


The Slave and the Mage: Freed

by ManiacsofTamriel



Series: The Slave and the Mage [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Chimer, Dwemer - Freeform, Dwemer Ruins, Elder Scrolls - Freeform, F/M, Khajiit - Freeform, Mage, Orc, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-29 22:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 95,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12640773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManiacsofTamriel/pseuds/ManiacsofTamriel
Summary: This continues the Slave and the Mage saga, the story of Ra'kesh and Kala.





	1. Chapter 1

The sensations from her body were distant and muted.  She was vaguely aware of a comforting warmth cocooning her from the shoulders down while a dull pain throbbed in her head.  She opened her eyes, or thought she did.  Everything remained black.

 

_ Am I alive or dead? _ Esmera thought.  She groaned, trying to speak.  Soft-soled shoes shuffled near.

 

“Don't move, you're safe,” said a woman's gentle voice.  A weight shifted on her face, uncovering an eye.  Esmera's lids squeezed shut against the light that assaulted her, which elicited a jab of pain from the right side.  When the gray beyond her eyelids stopped being painful she opened them again and saw a fuzzy gold-skinned figure wreathed by a halo of light.  The image slowly focused into the face of an Altmer peering down at her, brows scrunched in concern.  She wore a dressing gown and her blonde hair seemed to have been brushed and pinned up hastily.

 

“What happened?” Esmera's voice was unexpectedly small.

 

“I was hoping you could tell me that,” the woman responded.  She moved out of Esmera's field of vision and returned with a flask, pressing it to Esmera's lips.  She drank weakly.  The flask moved away and cloth dabbed at the drops that had run down her chin.

 

“What's on my face?” Esmera tried to move her arm to push it away but her hand was trapped beneath a blanket.

 

“It's a cloth and don't move it,” the mer replied sternly.  “You were stabbed in the eye.  Do you remember?”

 

The memories trickled back.  Yes, she did remember.  She remembered the agonizing pain as her eye was pierced and the complete lack of thought or reason afterwards.  She'd staggered away into the next street, barely managing to down a potion before her body turned numb from shock.  She could not recall anything after that.

 

She shifted her head and saw her armor leaning against the wall beside the bed.  The Altmer followed her gaze.

 

“The guards came by asking if I had seen a Redguard in Dreugh armor.  I told them I hadn't.  Shall I come to regret this?” She seemed curious, not concerned.

 

“No.” The word was barely audible.  She closed her eye again, too tired and weak to care about anything.  It didn't matter that she was defenseless in the home of a stranger.  It didn't matter that Ra'kesh and that damn Argonian had escaped.  It would all be dealt with later.  She felt herself slip away into blackness again.

 

\---

 

Ra'kesh and Kala cleaned up and changed without a lot of further conversation.  Things seemed relaxed enough, the odd joke or wry remark exchanged at the tailor's or in the kitchen.  Kala was thoughtful as she went to post the letter at the letter-box at the end of the street.  As was tradition, she attached a tiny twist of paper with three drakes to the corner of the envelope.  Mailed letters were the only time when she would use a rectangular folded sheet instead of a scroll.  She knew a lot of her guildmates used them for alchemical recipes, but she kept a ledger for that.  She wore a darker blue robe and her hair fully braided back.

 

On her way back past the house, before she turned up the hill, she heard the door to the Abathins' house open.  She turned to see Sera Abathin peering out cautiously.

 

“It's all right, it's just me,” she said.  She held up the burlap sack demonstratively.  “I'm going picking.  Do you need anything from the market?”

 

“Oh, hello, Kala.” The woman opened the door more fully, kitchen knife gleaming briefly before she tucked it into her skirts.  “One can't be too careful with all that's been going on lately.  I'm thinking of sending the children to their aunt's until things calm down.” She looked Kala over thoughtfully.  “Are you all right? You look as though you've been ill.  I heard that your friend was attacked on the street.”

 

“Oh, no, I'm fine,” Kala said.  “I've just been very busy.  Ra'kesh is all right too, he's up at the Fighters Guild today turning in a job.” She tried not to let too much pride creep into her voice.  It wouldn't do to make herself as obvious to everyone as she had apparently been to Saw-Them-Fall.  “Anyway, there's no reason to fear for the children.  They were people who had a grudge against Ra'kesh personally – some sort of old feud.”

 

“Oh, good.  I mean, well, not good, obviously, but I'm glad it's all over with.  It  _ is  _ all over with, isn't it?”

 

“One of them did get away,” Kala said.  “But again, if she were to come back, she wouldn't be after you or your family.  I don't think she knows you exist.”

 

The young Dunmer chewed her lip thoughtfully.  “Perhaps I'll send them to my sister's all the same, just for a week or so.”

 

“If it makes you feel safer, Sera,” Kala said.  “Sure you don't need anything?”

 

“Oh no, I'm fine.  Be safe out there, Sera gra-Nend.”

 

Kala nodded and walked on, hearing the door click shut behind her.

 

She was on the alert for lurking bandits off the South road, remembering her first trip out with Ra'kesh, but there were Legionnaires patrolling now.  Their steel armor gleamed bright in the sun as they stolidly marched up and down the road in pairs.  She collected a good assortment of ingredients and spent probably three hours at it, dawdling along in the sun.  It was pleasant to have a quiet day.

 

\---

 

Ra'kesh strode proudly into the guildhall with his rat tails, wearing his first set of pants and the patched shirt Kala had originally bought for him.  The burlap bags were tinted red by dripping blood.  He passed Wayn in the hallway, who gagged at the stench and shot Ra'kesh a look of disgust.  The Khajiit shrugged and headed upstairs where he again found Eydis Fire-Eye in her usual spot.  This time she was polishing a Dwarven mace.

 

“Ah, you've come back so soon,” she said, looking up from her task with mild surprise.

 

Ra'kesh slid the bags from his belt and held them out to her.  She accepted the prize reluctantly and opened one of the bags to look inside.  Eydis recoiled as the smell hit her and closed it immediately.  She handed them back to Ra'kesh, head turned to the side.

 

“Throw it in the barrel outside the door when you leave.  I trust that all twenty are there.” She waved a hand in front of her face to clear the air.

 

“Ra'kesh labored all day to retrieve these tails, and you will not count them?” He shook his head, smiling.  She did not respond to that.

 

Eydis prepared the papers Ra'kesh needed to be formally admitted into the guild, explained all of the services he was now entitled to, and mechanically recited the charter.  Ra'kesh fancied she put special emphasis on the penalty for stealing from the guild.  Aside from this, there was little rigmarole.  She did not bat an eye when he signed the contract with a clumsy  _ rah _ , as it was not terribly unusual for their members to be illiterate.  It was the only letter of Ta'agra Ra'kesh could recognize or write, a snaking squiggle followed by a second line which curved down.  To Eydis it was a meaningless scribble.

 

She counted out his ten gold, his first honest earnings.  Eydis tried not to stare as he dropped the coins into his purse with more joy than a meager ten seemed to warrant.  Perhaps he had not eaten in some time.

 

“I will add your name to the roster, Ra'kesh the Associate,” she said.  “In the meantime, if you would like another job, I have a few.  Actually...  how do you feel about searching for a missing boy?”

 

Ra'kesh started at the suggestion.

 

“Is this not a bit..  advanced?”

 

“The boy has been missing for several days.  In instances like this, it is likely you have only a body to find.” Eydis shrugged, untroubled.  “He was the son of a merchant and disappeared on the road between Caldera and Balmora.  Most likely he was killed by an animal.  Just do your best to find the remains, slay whatever beast has done it, and report to the father, who has the reward.”

 

The Khajiit thought for a moment, scratching the back of his hand distractedly.  Eydis waited, staring at him expectantly.

 

“Yes..  he will take this job,” Ra'kesh said slowly.  Telling a grieving father that his child had been mauled by kagouti was not what he had in mind when joining the guild, but gold was gold, and somebody had to do it.

 

“Excellent! The father's name is Bernard Perrick.  He lives in the outskirts of Caldera, outside the wall.  You should speak to him to get a description of his son, and perhaps a scent.  A Khajiit's nose might come in handy here.”

 

“Of course.  Ra'kesh will leave quickly.” He bowed to Eydis Fire-Eye and left with a heavy heart.  He would leave for Caldera today, as this was a very sensitive case.  Ra'kesh would not assume the boy was dead until he saw for himself.  Still, he must stop by the house and let Kala know.  She may want to come, and if not, she should know he may not be returning for a few days.  He dropped the rat tails in the barrel that stood outside the guildhall, relieved to finally be rid of that stench, and headed home.

 

_ When did Kala's house become “home”? _ he wondered.  The muffled jingle of the coins in his purse made him smile.  He would pay rent with this.  It was not as if Kala truly needed gold at the moment with her ten thousand in the bank, but it was the principle of the thing.

 

Ra'kesh kept a wary eye out for Esmera as he walked through the neighborhood despite how unlikely it was that the Redguard was even alive.  He noticed one or two people giving him a wide berth on the street - had rumors spread so soon?

 

He found the house to be empty, so Ra'kesh had a light lunch of scuttle with bread and decided to nap while waiting for Kala's return.  He was operating on only four hours of sleep and didn't know what chance he would have for rest over the next few days.  He lined up the ten drakes in a tidy tower on the alchemy table and went upstairs to sleep in his clothes.

 

\---

 

Kala came home around four in the afternoon, sack over her shoulder.  She unlocked the door and listened to it lock again behind her before she went to the alchemy table.  There was a stack of ten drakes on it.  She grinned at them.  Ra'kesh was home, apparently.  It was very like him to hand over his pittance from the Guild when each of them had enough money to buy a small house.  She scooped it into her purse and set about dividing her new ingredients into the jars.

 

As she did so she softly sang a song her late Grandfather had taught her first, a song she had often heard her Mama sing.  She had known it so long that she no longer thought about the words.

 

_ “The sun is high, the sky is blue _

_ And we are come to war; _

_ Today we rise to enemies _

_ Whom we have known before...” _

 

The kreshweed fiber went into a neat coil.  The roobrush had to be laid in stiff leaves like a pack of cards.  The hackle-lo leaves could be folded around each other.  She worked away absently, mind idle as her fingers were busy.

 

Ra'kesh was roused from slumber by a sweet sound carried from below.  Kala's voice was soft but he could just make out the words of Orsimer.  He stretched in bed and grinned to himself as he listened, wrapped in the warm glow provided by a soft bed and the presence of one he held dear.  He would have liked to pick up his lute and put music to the song, but the mood faded as Ra'kesh remembered his duty.

 

He gave himself a quick grooming and padded heavily downstairs, making sure to create some noise just in case Kala was shy about being heard.

 

“Welcome back,” he said, finding her in the usual place.  “Khajiit has another job and must leave at once for Caldera.  He was only waiting to tell you so.  Was Kala's collecting uneventful?”

 

Kala raised her head as she heard footpads descending the stairs, but finished the chorus before setting down her jar of powdered scrib jelly.  She turned to smile at Ra'kesh, then let the smile fade as she listened, looking thoughtful.

 

"Blessedly, yes," she said.  "I have an errand to Caldera myself, actually.  Perhaps we could do both.  I might as well take the opportunity to see Veridael.  Do you especially want to go alone?"

 

“Ah, he lives in Caldera? That is lucky.  In fact..  Ra'kesh would rather not go alone, but in some ways this job is worse than the first.  He must find a missing boy who is probably already dead somewhere between Caldera and Balmora.  He is to speak to the father for further information, someone called Bernard Perrick,” Ra'kesh explained, ears drooping sadly.  He brought with him the satchel found in Drakan-Ka and filled it with some bread and the last packages of pemmican left over from the trip.

 

She listened, frowning seriously.

 

“What a dreadful thing to have happened.” And what a dreadful thing for him to face when he had violently lost his family and his smaller siblings.  Certainly he must not be allowed to face such a thing alone.  There were probably skooma merchants in Caldera somewhere, and what if the man was cruel to him out of grief and he had some sort of relapse? No, he should definitely have someone along to keep an eye on him.

 

Kala got up, putting the jar back in its alphabetized place.  "Oh, and congratulations on your first paying Guild job.  And thank you for the gold."

 

Ra’kesh scratched at his mane sheepishly.

 

“Of course, he must earn his keep somehow.” He flashed a toothy smile.

 

Kala smiled back rather stupidly until she realized wha she was doing.

 

“Hold on, I'll fill the water skins.” She went to the smaller pump at the kitchen sink to do it.  “If we go through the Guild guide we can be there quickly, see Mr.  Perrick, then start along the road back toward Balmora.  Do you mind if I take a collecting bag, just in case?” She had already made a few fatigue drains to help her try and get back on a schedule of sleeping every night – there were two in her potion belt, marked with black dots - but she could never have too much comberry.

 

He accepted two of the filled water skins, one for his belt and one for the bag.

 

“That is fine.” He suddenly remembered that Kala had found something from Veridael's journal and had meant to ask her about it later, in private.  So much had happened that it completely slipped his mind.  “By the way, what was it you started to say about Veridael the other day? Something with a fingernail?” He cocked his head to the side, brows knitted together seriously.

 

“Oh.  Yes, with everything that's happened...” She shook her head as she went to retrieve her collecting bag.  She had sat up reading the diary and then never really told him what she had found.

 

“Veridael put a clipping from his fingernails into the machine on the LIVING setting.  His journal is hard to read with all the damp and mold, but it sounds like it created a copy of him somehow.  He spoke Dwemer and Chimer and couldn't disobey anything Veridael said.  I want to know if the copy still lives, and talk to him if so.  For my own information.  Obviously it's still far too dangerous to let any sort of authorities know about this.”

 

Ra'kesh's ears flattened at this, deeply disturbed by the news.

 

“Ra'kesh would like to be present when you speak to him,” he said after a moment of thought.  He figured she wouldn't mind, and the smell of this situation was all wrong to him.  Perhaps it was silly to think Veridael might try to kill anyone who learned his secret but it wasn't a risk worth taking.

 

Kala nodded.  The ears did not surprise her.  She had not forgotten how strenuously he had argued against testing the machine on anything sentient.  “It's not a bad idea.”

 

He laid a hand on the door.

 

“Ready?”

 

“I'm ready.”

 

The door locked itself behind them with a firm click.  The sun was not yet setting, but shadows were starting to grow longer as they started up the hill toward the Mages Guild again.  They had made this walk several times since they met.  Ra'kesh was hardly the same Khajiit he had been the first time, Kala thought.  Over these few weeks he had put on weight and fur, and even with the pink naked stripe across his chest he was a much handsomer creature than he had been.  The walk did not wind him as it once had even after the morning they had spent in the sewer.

 

She had lived in Balmora many years now and was well accustomed to the hill herself.  Even after a long day's picking, she felt only a little burn in her thighs and the portion of anatomy that one of her professors had called the “seating muscles.”

 

For a wonder, Ranis Athrys was not at the front desk upstairs.  This evening it was Marayn Dren.  He had a soul gem in one hand and an amulet in the other; a thin purple strand of magicka connected them.  He glanced up as they entered the lantern-lit dim.

 

“Oh, good evening, Ser' gra-Nend.  Serjo.” The eye that raked the Khajiit from head to toe was assessing, but not overtly unfriendly.  He set the two articles down – the thread of magicka remained – and folded his hands on the desk.  “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

 

Ra'kesh was almost disappointed not to see that sour-faced woman at the desk.  He wondered how far he could take his jokes before she said something about it.  This elf seemed slightly more personable so Ra'kesh decided to act in kind.

 

“Heading to Caldera on Fighters Guild business, serjo.” Ra'kesh answered.  His eyes flicked to the soul gem on the desk, whiskers twitching forward.  The stream of magicka caused a curious sensation, like wind moving against his whiskers although the air was still.  He looked back at the Dunmer's face, trying not to stare at the scarring.

 

“This one is Ra'kesh.  He suspects he may be using the travel services frequently.”

 

Kala nodded confirmation.

 

"Good evening, Magister Marayn.  I'm hoping to collect some stoneflower as well."

 

The elf grunted.  "What happened with that Argonian?"

 

"He is dead," Kala said.  She and Marayn gazed at one another for a moment, both faces impassive.  Then the Dunmer smiled very briefly, a there-and-gone flicker of an expression.

 

"Thus always to those who would harm our new families.  Pass on, and good luck." He took up the gem and the amulet again and appeared to dismiss them from his notice.

 

The Khajiit's face would have turned red if his fur didn't hide it.  He walked away briskly without another word to the man.  Why did he say that? Was it based on something Kala had said? Had she referred to Ra'kesh as “family?”

 

He realized he'd left Kala behind and waited for her to catch up to him.

 

Kala bowed to the Magister and hurried to overtake the rapidly retreating form of the Khajiit, face darkening.

 

“He knew about Waduuya?” Ra'kesh hissed after they were well down the ramp.

 

"Apparently," she hissed back.  "I remember remarkably little about that night, but Marayn did come and speak to me while I was lying down.  He must've noticed a stranger.  Not much goes on in here that  _ someone _ doesn't notice." She cleared her throat, straightening her robe under the potion belt.  "I er...  I wouldn't refine too much on the family thing.  He has a bit of a mania about that and the guild because he was born a Dren.  And don't tell him I told you that, either.  He doesn't like to be reminded."

 

The guild was busy with people at the book tables and bustling around the bunks with knapsacks.  A party of apprentices must have recently returned from an outdoor lesson.

 

“Oh,” Ra'kesh said simply, realizing Marayn had been calling Kala his own family, not calling Ra'kesh Kala's family.  He internally reprimanded himself for being stupid again.  It had been a silly thought; they were friends, nothing more.  His heart ached horribly at that.


	2. Chapter 2

They soon came to the transport platform and exchanged pleasantries with the woman there, another face that was becoming familiar to Ra'kesh, although he didn't recall her name.  He watched Kala count out drakes to pay her.   _ There goes all the gold from the rats, earned and spent in a single day, _ he thought.  Being an honest man was expensive.

 

A moment later the Caldera guildhall appeared in a shower of light and Ra'kesh quickly released Kala's hand, paranoid that she would get the wrong idea if he held on longer than necessary.

 

Kala’s feelings were mixed.  She was half-afraid she had said something overly revealing to Marayn while she lay twitching in the bunk, but if so the Magister had been kind enough to keep it to himself.  It stung her how quickly Ra'kesh let go of her hand when they materialized.  But what did she expect? The better his health and circumstances, the more he must distance himself from the degree of intimacy they had been forced into since their first meeting.  She must prepare herself for the day when he would choose to leave.

 

Caldera was a quaint little town of Imperial style featuring stone and plaster houses and thatched roofs.  Smoke puffed from narrow chimneys; it was early evening, and dinner time for many families.  A squat, boxy castle sat on the hill on the north end of town, too humble to tower as Telvanni mushrooms or Hlaalu guard towers did in their Dunmer arrogance.  Ra'kesh much preferred this style of architecture to anything Dunmer.  It was modest and comfortable, and Caldera was cleaner than certain parts of Balmora.  There was certainly less crowding here.

 

Kala had always liked visiting Caldera.  It was cooler than Balmora, nearer the mountains, but not so damp and chilly as Dagon Fel had been.  She had occasionally traveled here with her mother and brothers on the rare occasion that her parents had been commissioned to build a suit of ebony armor.  It had taken all of them and a guar-drawn cart to see it home safely, Mama sitting up with her warhammer beside Kala's eldest brother Kord while the younger brother Zel sat in the back with his crossbow.  It was Kala's job to make sure the load didn't shift wrong and fall.  Actually there probably wasn't much she could have done to prevent that, but she had badly wanted to go, so she had been allowed once she was big enough that a diving cliff racer couldn't carry her off.

 

“This one prefers to see Mr.  Perrick first,” Ra'kesh said.  “It would be good to start the search as soon as possible.” Night would fall soon, and although that was of no particular consequence to either of them, he was sure the grieving father could do without being interrupted in the middle of the night.  He led Kala to the outskirts of town, where Fire-Eye had said Bernard Perrick lived.  The Southern city gates had not been closed for the day and the road led them past houses that grew smaller and uglier as they went.

 

There was little traffic on the road.  They stopped a barefoot man carrying a fishing pole to ask for directions.  He pointed to a house just down the road and walked away, shaking his head.

 

The house was a little stone hut with a thatched roof, which was terribly thin in spots and molding in others.  Green poked through the cracks on the stone landing in front of the door.  A little garden at the side of the house was bordered by a rotting fence and the garden itself was overrun with weeds.  An assortment of plain, dingy clothes fluttered on a clothesline in the backyard.

 

Kala's brow knitted in painful anticipation as they approached the humble house.  Ra'kesh knocked after a troubled glance round the miserable setting.

 

After a moment, an older Breton answered the door, leaning on a stick.  A faded velvet tunic and brown linen trousers hung loosely from his bony frame.  The top had been a vibrant blue at one time, but was now a dull grayish color worn and patched multiple times with different types of fabric.  The man was bald on top with a ring of thin gray hair hanging from the back of his scalp.  It was long enough to touch his shoulders, with a few scraggly strands combed over the top of his head.  His eyes were nearly hidden between drooping lids above and puffy bags below.  He would have been average height for a Breton, but he was hunched in a permanent stoop.

 

“This one is Ra'kesh of the Fighters Guild, and this is Kala gra-Nend of the Mages Guild,” Ra'kesh said seriously.  “Does he address Mr.  Bernard Perrick?”

 

“You do.  Please, come in.” Bernard nodded gravely and shuffled away from the door, closing it after they had entered.

 

The house was only one room, as ill-kept inside as the exterior had been.  The left side of the home was a kitchen area with a table and two chairs, and one corner of the table had been taken over by a meager alchemy setup.  There was a mortar and pestle stained green and tidy little piles of common weeds, withered flowers, and dead nirnworms.  Ra'kesh noticed something that looked a lot like a homemade skooma pipe without the mouthpiece.  It was a red clay pot with a hole cut in the side and a plate laid over the top of it instead of a lid.  A hollow reed connected the hole to the side of a second smaller pot.  The bigger pot was blackened on the bottom from being held in the fire.

 

The right side of the room, which was only a few steps away from the kitchen, featured two beds that were nothing more than straw-stuffed mattresses laying on the ground with animal skins thrown over the top.  There was no smell of skooma anywhere in the room as Ra'kesh had expected, but there was a large collection of empty mazte bottles clustered by one of the beds.  A fire burned in a hearth in the center of the room.  There was a bar and a cooking pot over the fire instead of an oven, socks thrown over the bar to dry and warm.  Chipped redware dishes and cups were piled on the floor nearby, along with a third chair.

 

“Khajiit is very sorry for the circumstances in which we meet.  If you will tell us everything about your son's disappearance, we will leave at once to begin the search,” Ra'kesh said gently.  The man nodded.

 

“It was six days ago.  Ernard was traveling to Balmora to sell our wares, as he does every other week.  He has taken up the family business, you see.” The old man gestured to a tall medicine-sellers trunk that stood upright near the foot of one bed.  It had straps attached to be carried on a person's back.   _ Perrick's Potions & Panaceas  _ was inscribed across the top of the trunk in flowing red script, the paint chipped in a few places.  The entire thing was old and worn from years of use.

 

Bernard hobbled over to the chair by the fire and sat down, sweeping a hand through his thin hair before continuing.  “After three days he had not returned, but this was not too unusual.  On the fourth day a neighbor brought home the trunk.  It had been lying near the road.  I fear my son never did reach Balmora at all and has been missing this entire time.” His eyes brimmed with pain, fingers twitching weakly in his lap.  The man appeared utterly broken.

 

“How old is Ernard?” Ra'kesh asked, confused.  He'd been thinking of a child.

 

“My boy is 23.  He'd already been robbed on that road multiple times and the guards never did a thing! They said there's no bandits out this way but I know there had to be!” Bernard's fists balled weakly in his lap, shaking in rage which subsided a moment later as he brought his hands to his eyes.  His body heaved as he tried to conceal his silent sobbing.

 

It was even worse than Kala had feared.  The old man had not only lost a child, he had lost his only temporal support.  She edged over to rest a hand on the man's shoulder.

 

“I'm so sorry, Ser' Perrick.  We will find your son.  Her jaw hardened, making her tusks a little more visible.  “And if we can, we will find the bandits as well.”

 

The thing in the pit of her stomach that quailed at the memory of the last bandits they had faced –  _ hands on her shoulders, memory never truly faded –  _ grew hard and heavy as she thought of her new spell.  She had never used it on a living sentient being.  Perhaps tonight was the night.

 

She quelled the urge to give the man money.  That would probably be counter to the entire point of Ra'kesh coming here for the Guild.  Maybe she could slip him something later, after they'd found the body.  She did not hold out much hope for the young man's survival.  (Kala was exactly the sort of person who would think of him as a young man when he was six years younger than she.)

 

Kala got up and jerked her head at the door.  When they were outside she said,

 

“No reason to humiliate him further, poor man.  I think we should start up the road and see Veridael when we've found the… when we've found Ernard.  Don't you?”

 

Ra'kesh leaned against the closed door, one ear laid back while the other cocked to the side.  His brow furrowed as he thought.

 

“Yes, but..  it has been six days.  Presumably there have already been searches.” He sighed heavily, turning away from the house and starting off down the road.  “Ra'kesh sees little hope with such a cold trail.”

 

How long would Ra'kesh allow himself to spend out here looking for a stranger's child? Would any amount of time ease the guilt when he returned to tell the man it was hopeless and he was giving up?

 

They walked until red and gold streaked the Western horizon, and kept walking after the sky had turned to blue-black, searching sections of land beside the road before returning to it to travel further.  The moon slivers and twinkling stars gave Ra'kesh more than adequate light to see by.  The road to Balmora snaked through a valley with high hills to the West and the mountainous wall of a foyada to the East, which made it doubly strange that Ernard was missing from such an enclosed area.

 

Ra'kesh was starting to become frustrated with the pointless walking when his nose caught a familiar scent, something which reminded him of that gloomy old house.  He paused, nose twitching.  From time to time he was able to catch the trail of travelers that had passed over the road, but this was very recent, and it seemed like many people had congregated in this spot.

 

Kala harvested stoneflower petals as they went, and occasional roobrush or willow anther.  She kept her Life Detection on with her potions and saw using Night Eye rather than the more conspicuous Light; she felt that her footsteps were louder than Ra'kesh's as it was.

 

She was just standing up from a squat, shoving another handful of petals into the sack, when she saw the Khajiit standing with ears up over on the other side of the road.  She walked quickly over to him, looking around.

 

“Ernard was here, with others,” Ra'kesh said.  There were no notable landmarks around, just scraggly trees and boulders on either side of them.  The foyada was perhaps 50 yards away.

 

“Wait, what? Was he alive?”

 

“Yes, alive,” Ra'kesh said excitedly.  He walked off the road, looking around for any signs of a struggle.  The grass had been tamped down where people stood.  A flash of white caught his eye; a broken arrow lay on top of the grass.  Ra'kesh picked it up.  It smelled of Bosmer and bore no blood.

 

“It had to be bandits,” he said.  “But this scent is far too fresh, how could this have happened a week ago?” It was hard to see unless one was looking, but a trail of slightly flattened grass and snapped roobrush branches lead away from the road.  Here and there the scent of various people lay on a tree or a log that they had touched, including Ernard.  Ra'kesh lead them East to the foyada wall, where Kala would have been able to see the tiny purple auras of humanoid figures moving beyond the rock.

 

“Hold on,” she whispered as they drew closer.  “They're on the other side of this rock wall.  There must be a hidden door or something.  Some of them are below us, so it's got to be a cave or mine.” She reached out to pat at the wall, moving methodically toward one side as she sought a door that might be hidden by brush or a curve in the rock.

 

\---

 

Down below, Urusa was restringing her bow by the fire, humming to herself.  Smoke wended away through a thin chimney in the rock overhead, dissipated by the trees above the opening.

 

A fistful of blond braids were wrapped up on top of the Bosmer's head, one dangling down past a pointed ear.  A sizable scar curved from one ear to her jawline, souvenir of a past disagreement with a colleague.  She wore practical leathers that hugged her trim figure.  A jet-black Khajiiti woman lay on the other side of the fire, picking her teeth as she leaned her head on the leg of an enormous Orc.  He was re-wrapping the hilt of an axe.  It glowed sullenly with a weak fire enchantment.  Like a certain number of Orcs, his hair started about halfway back on his head, and he had shaved and wound it into a row of coup knots down the center of his skull.  Black linear tattoos covered his bare shoulders, crudely geometric.  Heavy muscle shifted as he moved.

 

The Khajiit twitched a notched ear.  They were short and very triangular, tuftless.  “La'della hears shuffly noises from up above.”

 

\---

 

Kala soon found the entrance which was concealed by a dense cluster of bushes, a narrow tunnel carved slantwise through the rock.  Ra'kesh had to crouch to fit inside, but the passageway opened up into a larger natural tunnel soon enough.  There were no sentries here, but a tiny light flickered far ahead around a bend in the twisting tunnel.  Ra'kesh could hear the whisper of cloth as a person paced in boredom.  Ernard's scent was strong here, but why they would have dragged the man back to their hideout and left his trunk of goods on the road was a troubling mystery.

 

He locked eyes with Kala.  If they could kill this guard quickly and silently, it would give them space to formulate a plan for the others.

 

\---

 

Ernard Perrick paced back and forth, occasionally yanking his dagger from his belt and thrusting it towards an imaginary enemy.  A candle with no holder burned on a large rock nearby, throwing Ernard's shadow against the opposite wall.  Old wax drippings clung to the rock's side as well as the nearby ground.

 

It was either this or watch the candle burn.  Ernard didn't know how the others could bear the tiresome chore of standing watch.  He sighed and turned his back to the wall, sliding down to sit for a while.

 

Ernard was not armored, still wearing his dusty traveling clothes and soft leather shoes with a curved point.  He usually kept a tidy goatee, but a week's worth of stubble shadowed the rest of his jaw now.  He was lean and taller than his father, but years of growing up in poverty showed in his gaunt face.  Ernard looked to his right, where the tunnel sloped downward, and hoped his relief would come soon so he could join his love by the fire once again.

 

\---

 

Kala looked back at Ra’kesh, eyes half-closing involuntarily as she tried not to cringe with her entire face.  She knew what he was thinking, and it bothered her in a way that the Argonian's death had not.

 

_ Ra'kesh vanishing from view, and the Bosmer dead without a sound… _

 

She shook her head, pulling him down to whisper in a tufted ear.

 

“ _ Drain fatigue.  We can drag him out and ask him where Ernard is.” _

 

Ra'kesh nodded at the suggestion.  They crept slowly to the turn at the end the tunnel where Ra'kesh pressed himself against the wall, hand on the hilt of the sword in case Kala missed or otherwise failed at the spell.  He waited with eyes and ears trained on the empty space in front of him, ready for the bandit to round the corner at any second.  He'd seen the distaste in Kala's eyes and hoped she didn't falter if the man attacked, but she did have an excellent record of pulling through when the situation turned dire.  He would be right behind her after she lunged for the sentry.

 

Kala watched the purple magicka signature, now stationary up ahead.  The man was sitting or lying down, probably bored on a long shift.  She edged forward, thumbing one of the two precious white dots from her belt, and then swallowed the potion and crept forward as softly as she could as she completely vanished from view.

 

A rock, a candle, and a man sitting against the rock wall greeted her around the corner.  She was glad she had argued against killing him outright.  He looked as though he had led a hard life.  His face was gaunt and poorly shaved, and his body was a little thin for his clothes.  He looked up at the sound of her clothes rasping against each other, then got to his feet, dagger in hand; but he could not accurately judge her position while she was completely invisible, and she was already behind him.  She clamped one hand around his mouth – he was taller – and the other around his chest as she sketched the spell-gesture.  Green light glowed around her fingers as she drained the energy from his body.  He made a protesting, startled noise, then slumped.  She lowered him awkwardly, hissing.

 

“Ra'kesh!”

 

She laid the man down, hand still over his mouth, so that he could see her grim face looking down at him.  The candlelight made the hollows under her eyes bigger and darker, casting long shadows from her broad cheekbones.

 

“Listen closely,” she whispered, lowering her voice to a rusty growl.  “The next minute will decide whether you live or die.  Where is Ernard Perrick?”

 

The dagger fell from Ernard's limp hand as every muscle in his body weakened.  A ghastly Orcish face loomed into his field of vision while his body sunk to the ground.  Ernard tried to squirm from her grasp but the only response from his heavy limbs was feeble twitching.  It was a terrifying situation, but even his heart and breath were forced to slow, leaving Ernard with the overwhelming urge to close his eyes and fall asleep.

 

The Orc's question confused him.  He opened his mouth, but was startled by a pressure on his shoulders and movement from the corner of his eyes.

 

Ra'kesh had kicked away the dagger on the floor and crouched to hold the man by the shoulders.  He was suddenly aware of two very alarming facts: One, that a scuffing of boots against stone echoed distantly from down the tunnel, and two, this man smelled of Ernard Perrick and no other.

 

“We have to go now!” he hissed, grabbing the man under his arms and hauling backwards.

 

“What? Should I Recall us out?” Kala was taken aback by his reaction.

 

“Hey, Ern,” said a voice from down the tunnel.  It was a deep bass, and the space magnified it menacingly.  “You okay up there? La'della said she hears something.”

 

Kala's eyes widened.  “You're joking,” she said, and latched onto Ernard as she leaned her shoulder into Ra'kesh so she could have a free hand for the casting.  The cave whirled around them and dissolved -

 

\- And they were back in the house in Balmora.

 

\---

 

Drel gro-Banda heard muffled voices and a  _ zip  _ of some kind of spell being cast, that was all; but La'della shoved at his arm.  “Out of the way, you great clod!” He flattened himself against the wall as best he could while the Khajiit sprinted up the tunnel, claws scrabbling at the dusty stone.  A moment later he heard swearing.

 

“What?”

 

“Gone, gone! Somebody has taken him away by spell, I can smell the magicka.  Somebody not new at it, either, phleh.  Orc and Khajiit.  Go get Urusa!”

 

“The hells?” said Drel, and turned to run back downstairs.

 

\---

 

Ra'kesh stopped his struggling with the body when he realized Kala was casting the spell.  He dropped the man's upper body like a sack of saltrice when they had arrived and glowered down at the prone figure, hands crossed over his chest and tail lashing back and forth behind him.

 

“You are Ernard Perrick!?” Now that Ra'kesh had a chance to study the boy's face, he did have the same high cheekbones and angular chin as his father.  Even without a Khajiit's nose the resemblance was unmistakable.

 

Ernard's head lolled to the side as he winced from the pain of hitting the floor.  He could feel some strength returning and raised his forearms in a pathetic attempt to defend himself, but his hands flopped limply.

 

“Yes,” he slurred with a clumsy tongue that felt too large for his mouth.

 

Kala sat back, resting her hands on the floor.  “Oof.  Well, that's a bit of a bouncer.” She cast her weak Light spell up at the ceiling, gently lighting the room.  He did look a bit like the old man.  What a thing to do to your father, to run off and join a bunch of bandits without so much as a letter! She could not encompass it.  She had never been that angry with her parents.

 

“Stop struggling, we're not going to hurt you, idiot.” She rubbed her forehead.  “Although you're extremely lucky we didn't go with Ra'kesh's initial plan, which was to kill you quietly so we could rescue Ernard Perrick from the bandits.  Your father hired us to find you and, if necessary, avenge your death.  Ra'kesh is with the Fighters Guild.”

 

She glanced at the man pityingly.  “It'll wear off in another minute or so, incidentally.”

 

Ernard grimaced, eyes screwing shut.  He couldn't imagine how his father managed to scrape together gold to pay the Fighters Guild.

 

Ra'kesh paced the length of the room angrily while waiting for the spell to wear off.  It wasn't long before Ernard felt his strength returning.  He struggled to sit up, propping himself up on his elbows.

 

“I'll pay you whatever my father owes, and more.  Just don't tell him where I am,” he pleaded.

 

Ra'kesh thought of that crying old man alone in his gloomy house.

 

“No,” he snapped.  “Ra'kesh was tasked with bringing you home, and he shall, even if stupid boy must be bound up and carried home.”

 

“What were you even thinking?” Kala asked.  “It can't be that he was beating you.  He would injure himself trying to kill a fly.  Why run off and join a crew of bandits? Why let him think you were dead?”

 

She remained seated on the floor, frowning in confusion as she tried to understand.  Her voice was much lighter and less intimidating now that she wasn't trying to deepen it artificially.

 

“My family matters are really none of your business,” Ernard said indignantly, pulling himself up to a more comfortable sitting position on the floor.  A glare from Ra'kesh said that it was their business now.  He sighed.

 

“Father's 'business' was going nowhere.  The potions he sells don't even work, but he flies into a rage if you tell him that.  No one is going to buy his disgusting 'panacea' when they can go to the Mages Guild and get something proven to work.  I stopped bothering to sell them and started begging and made more money that way.  At least with the bandits I'll make some real gold.  In fact, I already got my first cut yesterday.  I hadn't yet figured out the best way to deliver it to him, though.”

 

Ra'kesh's shoulders slumped, glare softening.  He held his ears back sheepishly for how he'd been acting towards the man.

 

“So Ernard walked into a den of thieves and they accepted him as one of their own?” Ra'kesh asked, brow raised.  Ernard hesitated at this, tilting his head and looking away.

 

“Well...  no.  Not quite.  It's rather complicated.  They'd tried to rob me a few times, but of course I never had much worth stealing, but the leader of their group..” He smiled, recalling how Urusa could be cutthroat and conniving in one moment and bewitchingly sweet in the next.  Ra'kesh immediately recognized that dopey expression as kitten love and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  He was in no place to judge given his current predicament.

 

“We plan to be married,” Ernard continued firmly, confirming Ra'kesh's thoughts.  “Neither you nor Father can stop me!”

 

“Mnnn.” Kala made a pained noise as she got up from the floor.  She felt sympathy with his situation – gods, did she – but it seemed ridiculous and impossible all the same.  “You're lucky that she loves you back, I suppose.  That's something.” She did not look at Ra'kesh as she went to straighten things on her alchemy table, trying to think.  “We can take the money to your father for you this time.  He still will have to be told some version of the truth, but I'm willing to do that.  But you – you can't keep robbing people close to Caldera.  What will happen is that the Guild will send us after you next, and then we'll just have to kill all of you.”

 

Ugh.  She had never had to kill someone she'd really conversed with at length.  Her stomach turned at the thought.

 

“Do you think you could persuade this love of yours to relocate? Say, to North of Seyda Neen? There's still plenty of foot traffic there, but there's much less of a Guild presence in the area.  You'd have to send the money by post from Seyda Neen, but the Imperial post is pretty reliable.”

 

And now she was giving aid and comfort to bandits.  Wonderful.   _ Remember two months ago when I was a law-abiding citizen? Things were so boring then.  I wonder why I don't miss it. _

 

Ra'kesh looked at Kala sideways with a slight smile, ear cocked to the side.

 

“Well...  perhaps,” Ernard said slowly.  “But the Caldera mine is a source of great wealth and part of the attraction to that area.  By the way, where are we?”

 

“Balmora,” Ra'kesh said, placing a thoughtful hand to his chin.  What story could they possibly tell Bernard that wouldn't crush him? He looked at Ernard, who was hauling himself off the floor and dusting off his pant legs.

 

“Can you not introduce your father to the girl without telling him what she is? Make up a story that she is from Seyda Neen and you will return there.” he asked.

 

Ernard's eyes widened at the suggestion then looked to the floor sadly.

 

“That's what I should have done from the start, not let him think I was dead, isn't it?” He rubbed a hand over his face, clearly ashamed of what he had done.  Ra'kesh could understand - he was young and stupid and in love and probably hadn't thought anything through.

 

“Okay, take me back to the hideout,” Ernard said, dropping his hands to his sides with fists and jaw clenched in determination.  “The gold is back there.  I promise I will pay you and then see my father.”

 

Ra'kesh stepped forward to pat the boy on the shoulder.  He shot a quick look at Kala.

 

“We will take you to Caldera, but do not worry about any payment.  Just do what is right by your father.  No parent should believe his child dead.”

 

Kala could not interpret Ra'kesh's expression.  If he thought she was referring to herself, how could he think that was funny? He wasn't normally cruel.  At least, he had not been since the skooma was out of his system.  She continued to avoid looking him in the eye.

 

It was nearly an hour before they were back through the Guild guild, had hiked out of town, and were nearly back to the place where they had diverged from the trail.  The moons were high in the sky, though Masser was almost new again, a tiny waning sliver.  Kala tried to concentrate on Ernard's situation, talking to him about his apparent fiancee – he'd fallen in love with a Bosmer, apparently.  She supposed that wasn't really odd in a human.  Humans were well known for their ability to fall in love with basically anyone, or at least in lust.  That his feelings had been returned was a bit odder, but she supposed he was handsome enough in his way.  Maybe the woman was a managing sort and was attracted to puppyish stupidity.  It had happened before.

 

Ra'kesh would be able to detect the stronger scent of three people – Bosmer, Khajiit, and Orc – as they approached the turnoff toward the cave.  As they drew nearer a voice from some Roobrush said,

 

“Stand and deliver!” It was a high-pitched whip-crack of a soprano.  “Give up the Breton if you want to live.”


	3. Chapter 3

“It's okay, Urusa, they are friends!” Ernard said, stopping in front of the bushes.

 

“We were tasked with finding the missing Ernard, and having found him, our duty is done,” Ra'kesh explained, watching the foliage with eyes alert.  He could not discount the possibility that they might still attack.  He quelled the urge to keep his body in front of Kala's, remembering that she was probably the more powerful between the two of them.  He made sure she would have a clear shot for a lightning bolt if need be.

 

A Bosmer in plain leathers and an elaborate pile of blond braids emerged from the brush slowly, arrow-first.  She surveyed them with narrowed eyes.

 

“Ernard, did they hurt you? What happened?” 

 

“I would like to say they did, but no, they treated my very fairly given the circumstances,” Ernard said.

 

From the other side of the road, a deeper voice – the one Kala had heard earlier – said,

 

“So wait, are we robbing them or not?” It appeared to emanate from a small grove of mushrooms, choked with further weeds.

 

A burbling alto said, “Hush, great silly Orc, is tender reunion moment.  Not for this moment the robbing.”

 

Kala held her hands up.  “Yes, nobody's hurting anyone.  Ernard's been a bit stupid, but if you're willing to go with him to see his father and tell him you're engaged and you're working in Seyda Neen everything will be fine.  No one has to be exploded.  Or poisoned.  Or shot.”

 

“His father? Oh, right.” The Bosmer eased the bow-string slowly with a gentle creak, rolling her eyes.  “I told you that was a bad idea, Ernie.  Sure, we can go talk to him.  I think I can trust Drel and La'della to watch the cave for a few hours and at least pretend they didn't spend the entire time up against a wall.”

 

There was tittering from the hiding place across the road.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” said the male voice.

 

Ernard grabbed the little Bosmer and pulling her to his breast in a gentle hug.  It was a huge weight off his shoulders just to touch her again.  Facing his father would be difficult, but with Urusa by his side he could bear it.

 

After retrieving a small bag of gold from the cave, the four began the trek up the road to the Perrick's house.  Ra'kesh watched Ernard and Urusa ahead of them with silent jealousy.  The couple walked with fingers laced together, purposely bumping into one another or leaning to whisper something in the other's ear from time to time while they quietly discussed what they would tell the old man.  Ra'kesh felt Kala's presence beside him.  Her hand was so close to his as they walked side by side and the simplest brush of his fingers against hers would have brought him so much joy.

 

He'd not hungered for skooma even when he saw the strange apparatus in Bernard's house.  Lately, the world was full of beauty Ra'kesh had been blind to for so long.  He ought to be thankful for that and appreciate Kala as the wonderful friend that she was, but the ache of longing in his chest remained.

 

Kala sighed heavily as they walked along behind the happy, albeit probably delusional, couple.   _ They think their lives are complicated.  Ha. _

 

She had thought herself well beyond the self-torment of her early twenties.  Those pesky urges kept coming back lately.  That was what happened when you let yourself fall in love with the wrong person, wasn't it.  Things weren't like in the old tales where you got kidnapped by an evil sorcerer and threw yourself off a cliff or something.  She supposed this way was more practical.

 

Ernard turned to them when they had reached his father's house.  He heaved a deep breath, looking like one ready to face the executioner.

 

“This is something Urusa and I should do alone,” he said gravely.  “It's bound to be emotional, and Father deserves to hear an explanation from me rather than strangers.”

 

_ Thank the Divines,  _ Kala thought when Ernand asked to be left alone.  What she said was a polite,

 

“Good luck to you all, then.  All things considered, I shall hope we do not meet again.” She bowed as they turned to go to the door, then grabbed a corner of Ra'kesh's shirt to tug vigorously in the direction of the Guilds.

 

“Come on, I really don't want to hear any of it – oh.  Sorry.” She released him, darkening, as she started quickly back toward town.  “I suppose there's no seeing Veridael until the morning, and we've a few hours yet.  Do you fancy trying to catch a few winks at the Mages or the Fighters Guild?”

 

Ra'kesh blinked in surprise as he was dragged away.  He did not miss Kala's resulting blush.  Kala was so puritanical when it came to personal space, he'd noticed.  Ra'kesh was accustomed to a rowdy bunch who would tousle one's fur or give a playful shove without any fear of overstepped boundaries.  Maybe it was a cultural difference, or a peculiarity unique to her family.

 

Or maybe the image of a filthy slave is ingrained in her mind, he reminded himself.  Not only had she been raised among the highly classist Dunmer, but he understood Orc society to be very hierarchical as well.  Ra'kesh quickly discarded this thought, knowing Kala to be a clearly unprejudiced person.   _ Enough self-loathing for one night.  Ra'kesh overthinks everything. _

 

“Rest sounds wonderful,” he said tiredly, glancing back the way they had come.  Yellow candlelight spilled onto the street as the door opened and a startled voice cried out from within the home.  Ra'kesh looked away again, letting them have their moment.

 

“To the Mages Guild.” He did not know if Caldera had a Fighters Guild.  Presumably not, if Bernard Perrick had come to Balmora for help.

 

“You look tired.  You've done an awful lot in the last few days.” Kala patted him on the back carefully.  The Khajiit's skin did not show color changes in the same way with fur over it, but he did look a bit heavy around the lower eyes.

 

He was much better off physically than when they had met, but that did not mean he was invulnerable.  One must not fall into the trap of treating him according to racial archetypes and just expect “betmer animal vigor” to carry the day.  It was much more likely that Khajiit and Argonians did not show fatigue in the same way because they did not want to appear weak to races that already treated them as inferior.  It was a nasty sort of circle.  That was how the world worked, though, wasn't it.

 

The hand on his back was warm and comforting.  Ra'kesh smiled at her kindness.  Perhaps he really had been overthinking things.

 

“Anyway, I'm sorry that you won't get paid.” She turned her steps toward the Mages Guild with its tower looming near the city wall, weak lamplight falling on the sign of the carved eye.

 

“Ra'kesh has plenty in the bank,” he said, waving a hand.  “Honestly, whatever he would have earned would be a pittance.  At least a job well done will raise his esteem in the guild.” And although he was too tired to think it clearly, being spared the task of reporting Ernard's death was a better payment than any amount of gold.

 

Ra'kesh followed Kala into the guild, where they were greeted by a sleepy looking Dunmer woman with long red braids draped over each shoulder.  She was seated at the front desk, writing words of magic on parchment in preparation for enchanting.

 

“Hello again,” she said, glancing up from her work.  She recalled the Orc and the Khajiit having passed by already that night and could guess at their intentions.  “Are we heading home this time, or looking for lodgings?” The Caldera guildhall was not equipped for large numbers of visitors as the Balmora chapter was.  They had no classroom or bunks, but a few bedrolls were kept in the storage tower just in case.

 

“Good evening, Magister Medila,” Kala said, pausing to bow with her fingertips pressed together, a polite mages' salute.  “We'd like to rest for a few hours, if we could.  Are the bedrolls still in the tower?”

 

The Dunmer nodded, yawning, and further disclosed the information that there was a student up on the top level doing alchemy and they should try to ignore the clinking and fizzing.  He was a driven fellow, some Imperial student who was a bit young for his guild rank and already striving ever forward toward the next one.  Kala thanked her and bustled off to open the lower door.  There was indeed a fair amount of alchemical noise drifting down the spiral staircase.  A clutter of crates, bags and baskets was crammed in under the stairs, but over time had expanded out along the wall to take up a good half of the tower room.

 

“Don't mind us, we're just getting bedrolls,” Kala called up the stairs.  The response was garbled but sounded polite enough.  She found the pile of bedrolls under a sack full of saltrice and handed one out to Ra'kesh, then laid hers out on the floor next to the crates and went to sleep almost at once.  She didn't even have to use one of the new black dots.  So much for that whole set of worries.

 

Ra'kesh arranged his bedroll a polite distance from Kala's and settled down for the few hours of night they had left.  Even with the noise from above he slept easily and woke after several hours of dreamless sleep.  The only light inside the tower was from candles, but the increased traffic outside the door told him it was day.  Ra'kesh sat up and smoothed back his fur as best he could, then looked over to Kala sleeping serenely with her lips parted around her tusks.  He smiled and watched her for a moment.  A warm glow accompanied the ache.

 

He figured she was eager to see Veridael, so finally Ra'kesh leaned over and gently shook her arm.

 

“Kala, it is morning.”

 

She was having a lovely dream, for a change.  She and Ra'kesh were curled up together in the bed in her room, warm and comfortable in the light of a new morning.  She had one hand curled around to rub the top of his head so that she could listen to the purr, feel it through her entire body as she lay facing him, pressed close.  His fur was glorious limned by the pale light through the green window, a halo around his ears, and his eyes were half-closed in lazy enjoyment.

 

“Kala, it is morning,” he said.

 

“Of course it is, darling,” she muttered without waking up.

 

A hand gripped his heart and squeezed.  Ra'kesh's eyes widened to plate-like proportions.  He retracted his hand as if burned then stared at her not knowing what to do.  Kala's eyes twitched beneath closed lids, obviously dreaming, but about what? He rummaged around in his satchel as noisily as possible and placed one package of pemmican next to her, hastily stood, rolled up his bed and tossed it in the general direction of the sacks and barrels.

 

“Ra'kesh will be waiting outside eat breakfast come out when ready,” he blurted and darted outside.  The door thumped shut behind him and he scurried out the front door of the guild without so much as a hello to anyone.

 

In Kala’s dream, the bed was covered with scrib, making scratchy noises with their feet as they walked to and fro.  There was an odd meat-and-berries smell filling the room.  Kala's stomach gurgled.

 

“Rargle waiousibe brkfast come when ready,” Ra'kesh explained helpfully.  A scrib was resting on top of his head like a hat, feelers twiddling.

 

Kala twitched awake at the thump of the door.  She opened her eyes on the dim light of the tower room.

 

“Ra'kesh?”

 

_ Oh, damnation.  _  She must've been talking in her sleep.  There was a package of pemmican on the floor next to her head.  She shoved it into a pocket as she rolled up the bedroll, cheeks flaming.  Well, no wonder he'd fled, poor man; what do you do in that situation? Thank goodness the dream hadn't been actually erotic.

 

There was still clinking and rustling from overhead, but slower and quieter; the man must've been at it all night.  She went over to the stairs.

 

“Did you hear me say something down here a minute ago?” she called up.

 

“Yes, it sounded like 'of course it is, darling,' said a helpful voice.  He sounded about nineteen, voice just changed enough not to crack.  “I gather you scared your friend off.”

 

“I can't really blame him,” she said dryly.  “You should go to bed.  You're going to end up with inaccurate results if you keep at it all day as well.”

 

“Thank you for your advice,” he responded politely.

 

“Mmf.” She rolled up the bedroll, rebraided her hair as best she could, and ambled out with her packet of pemmican, yawning.  People were moving about the main rooms, but not very quickly or with much attention to what was going on.  Kala poked her head out the front door, squinting in the light of sunrise as she looked for the Khajiit.

 

Ra'kesh ate his own meal silently while leaning against the adjacent building where he could watch the door, chiding himself for acting so strangely.  Ra'kesh had sexual dreams from time to time; what business was it of his if Kala dreamed of a big strong Orc with gleaming tusks, or whatever characteristics Orsimer women preferred.  He winced as an image of Kala in the arms of such a man flashed in his mind.

 

Ra'kesh nearly dropped his pemmican when the door opened to reveal Kala's face.  After a brief lapse in which he did not know what to do with his ears or mouth, he grinned cheerfully at her.

 

“Ready to see Veridael?” he asked enthusiastically.

 

“I er… I'd like a moment to eat breakfast.  I wanted to make sure I didn't inadvertently give offense talking in my sleep.” She emerged from the guild, tugging the packet out of her pocket.  “I really do try not to think of you that way.  It's just we've been thrown together a lot lately, and… It's all very awkward.  I just want you to know I don't expect you to feel the same way.”

 

Her voice was calm.  She quaked inwardly; she'd planned a conversation like this one for ages, and at no point had she envisioned it involving leaning on the wall outside the Caldera Mages Guild gesturing with pemmican.

 

Ra'kesh opened his mouth to give a flippant response denying that he had heard anything at all.  He stopped when the meaning of her words sunk in, although he felt as if some crucial piece to the puzzle was still missing.

 

“Kala was dreaming about Ra'kesh?” he asked, looking at her sideways with one ear turned forward, absolutely confused about what he was hearing.

 

"Yes," she sighed.  She risked a glance at him.  "You're doing the one ear forward thing again, and I still don't know what that one means.  Are you offended?" She debated whether to start eating or not.  Things were already so far off any script she could imagine as to be surreal.  "I know Orcs aren't attractive to Khajiit.  I actually used to think the reverse was true, too.  Stupid me."

 

He flicked his ears forward.  He wasn't aware he'd been doing anything in particular with them.

 

Ra'kesh regretfully admitted to himself that he had once thought Orcs unattractive as well, along with all of the other flat-faced races.  He found it humorous that humans and elves called Orcs “piggish” when their facial structure looked nearly identical from a Khajiiti perspective.  The squashed noses and naked skin were considered ugly by many Khajiit, and were part of the reason the merish Ohmes-raht tattooed their faces.

 

But after spending so much time around her, Ra'kesh had come to realize that Orcs were not ugly, just different.  The same was true of their scent.  He would not change a single thing about her.

 

“This is untrue,” he said firmly.  “Kala is the most beautiful woman he has known and the dearest friend he ever had.  Ra'kesh was so preoccupied with various things the week following our meeting- brushes with death, addiction, grief...  But when the dust settled Khajiit has been a lovesick kitten ever since.  He never dreamed that the attraction could be..  mutual.”

 

He had bared his soul to her, something Ra'kesh never imagined he'd be able to do.  Kala had saved his life many times and in ways she probably couldn't fathom, and always he could offer nothing more than a weak thanks.  Moisture burned in his eyes; the dam of emotions was breaking.

 

Kala stared at him, yellow eyes huge.  Her heart seemed to seize in her chest.  The pemmican packet hit the ground with a soft thump, unheeded, as she grabbed him around the waist and held on, pressing her cheek hard against his shirt.  She could feel his heart beating against her right ear.   _ Mine. _

 

“Oh, my dear,” she said, voice hardly audible the dryness of her throat.  She could hardly breathe, and speaking seemed impossible.  “Me neither.  But it is.  Gods, it is.”

 

The sudden warmth encircling him was heavenly.  Ra'kesh finally did what he'd been longing for: he tossed aside his own half-finished pemmican and wrapped his arms around Kala to hold her tightly, pressing his lips against the top of her head.  This time, he didn't have to worry about how long the hug lasted.  He could very well hold her forever.  Ra'kesh closed his eyes and stroked a hand over the curve of her hip while the other cupped the back of her head, savoring every second that they touched.  He could do nothing to stop the happy purr that rumbled deep in his throat.

 

After several long moments that still were not long enough, he brought a furred finger to her chin and lifted her face up to meet his eyes.  He simply could not believe this beautiful woman was in his arms, caring for him as he did for her.  Nothing so precious had ever been given to Ra'kesh in his entire life.


	4. Chapter 4

Kala shivered with delight at his touch, warm fingers on the back of her head, warmth at her hip, warmth at her heart.  To be held by him and to hear that sound – to feel it, burring through his chest – was more than she had ever hoped for.  So many little stolen moments, these last few weeks.  So many little touches that she had enjoyed and treasured up and felt guilty about.  No longer.  She felt the muscles in the back of her neck ease, releasing tension she had not known was there.

 

Reluctantly she let him lift her head.  It was so hard to look at his face even now.  She had never seen him completely naked, but there was something terrifyingly intimate about this that was different from anything she had experienced.  His eyes seemed to swallow the world.  She never wanted it to end.

 

“May he kiss you?” Ra'kesh asked with a sheepish grin.

 

“Yes, but don't scrape yourself,” she said, and a laugh bubbled up from deep inside as she reluctantly unclasped her arms behind him and reached up to place her hands on his shoulderblades.

 

Next to them, the door to the Guild opened a crack, very slowly.  The window curtain was being drawn back very slowly as well.

 

Ra'kesh stroked a thumb against Kala's cheek, then dropped his hands to hold her possessively around the waist.  He lowered his face hesitantly until their lips pressed together, feeling like a teenager, completely ignorant of what to do and fearful of messing up.  He wanted to absorb every little detail from this moment and remember it forever: The warm air that puffed from her nose onto his whiskers, the softness of her lips, her tusks against his mouth, and the plush flesh beneath layers of cloth under his hand.  Heat rose through his core as Ra'kesh moved his hands lower.  He wanted to rip that damnable robe from her body.

 

Ra'kesh heard nothing and was aware of nothing but the sensations from the woman in his arms.

 

“Mmm.” She moved her lips carefully against his, not wishing to tear his face, luxuriating in the feeling of fur against her skin.  She had never kissed a man, not like this, but she had heard enough from other people and gossip to know not to smash her lips forward into his teeth.  She had heard another trick, too, but she could think of more interesting things than the alphabet to form with her lips at this moment.

 

_ I love you.  I love you.  I love you.   _ She could feel something stirring in front of her at around waist-level as she started to feel tight inside -

 

“Oh, gods,” she pulled her face away as he moved his hands, gasping, half-laughing at them both.  “Not here, or they'll never let me back into the Guild again.”

 

Someone was watching them through the window curtains, she realized.  And in fact, the building's door was open, too, a large brown eye watching them through the crack.

 

Ra'kesh grinned, raising his eyes to the open door behind her.

 

“Do these mages spend so much time locked away in their dusty studies that they have never seen adults kiss?” he asked the air.  The door closed in response.  He reluctantly pulled his upper body away from Kala, running his hands up her arms to clasp both her hands.

 

“Let's go home and visit your friend on another day,” Ra'kesh purred, leaning forward to kiss her on the neck.  His raspy tongue darted out briefly to taste her skin before pulling away again.

 

Kala gasped again, startled as a tingling frisson traveled up and down her spine.  Her body was on fire.  She did not remember ever feeling anything like it.  She literally could not remember the name of the elf she had meant to visit.  It seemed much less important.

 

“Home,” she agreed, and freed one hand to sketch the relevant gesture.  Caldera dissolved around them, and she had never been happier to see it go.  She reached for Ra'kesh's shirt, seizing hold of the collar, and was startled to see it come away with a loud  _ rrrrip.   _ Her heart seemed louder than she remembered.  She was rising on the red tide as she had never known it.  It was an animal urge; but it was not the urge to kill.

 

“The hells with that shirt anyway,” she said roughly, grinning up at him.

 

Ra'kesh's eyes widened in shock for a second before the look dissolved into a lusty grin. This was an entirely new side of Kala he had never seen before and he cherished it.

 

“The color did not compliment this one's eyes,” he agreed, hiking Kala's robe over her hips and hooking his thumbs in the waist of her underlinens, slowly peeling them down. This was the first time he had touched her anyplace other than face or hand. His ears quivered in nervous excitement as he dragged the cloth past her buttocks and then her thighs. He helped her step out of the pants, pulling her shoes off with it.

 

“Ra'kesh always knew that lovely curves were hidden beneath these robes,” he said, looking up at her. A hand traveled up her inner thigh, brushing teasingly against her slit.

 

The impatient tremors were passing off, Kala’s skin hot as with a fever. One hand cupped the back of Ra’kesh’s head, fingers twining with the rich mane, rubbing at the scalp under it. She luxuriated in every contact with his skin. His fingers brushing her outer lips sent chills all the way up her spine, and she could feel the center of her arousal starting to throb as it eased from its hood. Orsimer were sometimes more merlike and sometimes more manlike in certain regards, but Kala lacked much in the way of hair. With her free hand she tore at her own shirt. The linen was old and thin, kept long for reasons of thrift. It came away like paper. Her breasts were full and the areolae were sharply defined and such a dark green as to be nearly black, nipples thick and presently very hard.

 

“While I can still talk,” she said throatily. “And – aaah – it won't be long if you keep doing that. You should know I haven't. So you'll have to tell me if I do something – nnn – stupid.”

 

He paused, ears snapping forward at her words.

 

“You’ve never had sex?” he asked, incredulous. “Then Kala's first time will not be here on the floor.” He stood up straight and scooped the smaller Orc into his arms to carry her upstairs. He'd grown strong enough already that he barely registered the weight in his arms, or maybe that was the adrenaline.

 

“No, I have erk?” Kala was used to thinking of herself as thicker than other women and had always assumed that meant she was too heavy to pick up. She was completely confused by the sensation of being lifted from the floor. The feeling of his arms around her was perfect, was right, was home. She leaned her head into his shoulder, pressing a tusk into the fur. Another laugh escaped her, a laugh of sheer incredulity.

 

Ra'kesh kicked open the door to Kala's room which had been left ajar and lowered her onto the bed, then straddled her, rubbing a thumb over one nipple while he leaned forward to kiss her neck. The hardness in his pants pressed against her naked groin.

 

“He must warn you, Khajiit do not look quite like other races,” he said breathily between kisses.

 

And then he was on top of her, streaks of fire running from her nipple straight to her brain and annihilating conscious thought for a good two seconds. She moaned into his ear, hands reaching up to run up and down his chest, feeling the hard muscle he had gained, feeling his breathing quicken.

 

“Now,” she demanded, arching her back to shove her mons up against the bulge in his pants. It seemed rougher than she had expected. It only increased her excitement as the red tide rose.

 

Ra'kesh leaned back on his knees and unbuckled his belt, tossing it to the floor, then freed his erection from the restrictive pants. It was pink and long and tapered, with little bumps running down the sides, reminiscent of the barbs of wild big cats but without the hooks. He did an impatient little dance on the bed as he freed his legs from the pants and threw them down, then leaned over her again to kiss her lips as he slid inside her. Ra'kesh gasped against her mouth as the tight wetness enveloped him.

 

His hand found hers on the bed; their fingers entwined. He was not a virgin, but this was the first time Ra'kesh had felt so utterly connected to his mate. The phrase “making love” finally made sense to him.

 

The thing inside her was rough, hard, so thick it seemed to fill the world. Kala tightened around him with an eager, desperate noise, hooking her legs behind his back. Her eyes were so wide that he could see white all around the yellow iris. Her lips eagerly moved against his. It hurt and gods, she never wanted it to stop. As she moved she felt the thing inside press against something unexpected, and a thrill of ecstasy shot through her. She pushed her hips upward again, fingers tightening around his almost in desperation.

 

She had loved men before, she had thought. She could not imagine ever doing this with a single one of them. All of it was only for Ra'kesh, belly against his belly, heart thundering fit to burst from her chest.

 

Kala remembered less of it than she would have wished later. She remembered him pushing back, and a building war of push and give, push and give, every smallest pressure a new ecstasy as the bumps inside magnified the sensation of every movement. It was building toward something, but she did not know what, too far gone to speak or ask. And then there was a moment when the world seemed to explode. She felt it not only in her clit, in her insides, but all the way up to her head, out to the ends of her fingers and toes. It was fireworks, it was supernova, it was the end of the world.

 

She screamed, fingers tightening on his hard enough to bruise, thighs clamped so hard around his waist that for a few seconds he literally could not breathe.

 

The ecstasy on Kala's face pushed him over the edge just as the air was crushed out of his lungs. He throbbed inside her, relieving what felt like a week’s worth of pent up sexual frustration as his seed shot deep inside. The view of her body below him, shining with sweat, heavy breasts shaking as their bodies moved and the tightness that gripped him all combined in an overload of his senses. Ra'kesh breathed Kala's name before collapsing on top of her, the intense tingle of pleasure slowly dissipating to leave behind tired satisfaction. They remained connected as he softened inside. It felt so right, so comfortable. He never wanted to leave.

 

“Ra'kesh loves you very dearly,” he said into her ear, kissing the side of her face again.

 

The red mist cleared slowly as she felt his weight settle, muscles unbinding as she regained control. The feeling of him still inside her was like a flutter of little wings. It was exquisite and gently relaxing. She reached up to stroke his hair as she kissed him back, lips caressing his furry cheek, tusks gently indenting the skin. She stretched out her legs on the bed under him. They ached a little, a feeling of exertion and satisfaction.

 

“I love you too, my very own, my very dear,” she said. Her breasts heaved under him as her breathing gradually slowed, nipples softening gently. “I don't – I have no words. I've never felt anything like that. It was glorious.”

 

After a moment she added sleepily, “No wonder everyone's so excited about it all the time...”

 

Ra'kesh rolled to the side, taking her with him so that they could stay entwined and curled his tail around one of her legs. Hearing those words from Kala filled him with a joy he had never felt before. He stroked a hand over her side from rib to thigh, reveling in her womanly thickness.

 

“He cannot fathom how you went so long without, but Ra'kesh is happy to have been Kala's first,” he said, eyes half-lidded in contentment. Her face snuggled against his chest which reverberated with a slow, happy purr.

 

Sleep tugged at his mind. He was safe, warm, and in the arms of his most precious person. Ra'kesh closed his eyes and let the blissful fog take him.

 

Kala tucked her head against his chest, sighing in deep satisfaction. She had dreamed of a moment like this, dreamed of it with no real hope of it ever occurring. Warm fur against her cheek, warm tail against her leg, warm arms around her. And oh, the purring. It was splendid, and it was addictive. She could listen to it forever, half-awake in blissful trance. She was suffused with a glow that she had never felt, as though her entire body had been holding its breath for years and had finally exhaled.

 

The purr gradually trailed off. A moment after she realized he was asleep. She rolled her head slightly to look at his face. His eyes were closed, mouth smiling, one ear smushed into the pillow. It was the happiest she had ever seen him look. She draped an arm around him for the luxuriant comfort of it and shut her eyes, sighing again. In another few moments she was asleep.

 

Ra'kesh woke to a gurgling stomach. That's right, he had dropped his breakfast in Caldera hours ago. Noon sunlight filtering through the thick windows bathed their bodies in gentle light. Kala was beside him still, proving that it had all been real. If it were a dream, he did not want to wake.

 

Ra'kesh had slipped from her body while they slept, but still they were pressed together with legs tangled. He didn't want to get up, even if his belly was telling him it was well past time to eat. Instead he gently stroked a finger over her sleeping face, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

 

“Kala,” he said softly. The name was a perfect sound on his tongue. She must be starving as well.

 

“Murphle,” Kala said, squinting her eyes open reluctantly. “Wazza. Ra'kesh. RA'KESH!” She clamped him in a full-body hug. “It did happen! Ha ha!” She planted a series of kisses on his face, a bit sloppily, and scrambled out of the bed, tossing the blanket over his head as she ran to get to the bath first.

 

“I am dying of starvation. We have to go get food,” she reported from inside, with the door open and the water running.

 

He laughed at the unexpected playfulness as the blanket hit him. He tossed it aside and stretched lazily before following her out, leaving his pants on the floor.

 

Ra'kesh was ready to go downstairs and see if anything was in the cupboard - even though he knew there wasn't any fish or scuttle left, it was a habit to check - but a glance toward the bathroom revealed Kala bending over to test the temperature of the water. He grinned and followed her in, placing his hands on her hips and bumping his slowly awakening length against her rear.

 

“We do not  _ have _ to get food,” he smirked.

 

“Eep. Yes, yes we do. But it can wait a few minutes.” She pressed back against him, resting her hands on the rim of the tub. She did not feel the roar of the beast – probably would not be able to for another day – but she felt tight and tingly inside, and the feeling of his touch was pleasant. She remembered the feeling of all the little bumps around the base of his shaft and she wanted them again. Her hair hung down over one shoulder, a complete mess.

 

“I mean assuming it's even possible to do it standing up. How would that even… Oh...”

 

Ra'kesh slid easily into that intoxicating wetness again, pumping slow and gentle this time now that the ferocious lust had been sated. His furred hips bumped against her, sending slight ripples across her round cheeks that were mesmerizing to watch. He would pause deep inside that throbbing heat for a moment before drawing back to repeat the process.

 

“One can make love in any place and any position,” he said with a chuckle, leaning forward to be closer to her ear. “Outside is always the best, perhaps in the warm sands of the river.”

 

“Mmm.” She pushed back after each stroke, hands still braced against the tub. The feeling of fur against her legs and buttocks was different from the first time, but she still treasured it, every brush of softness a contrast to the hardness inside. In that position he bumped her clit from inside with every stroke, an unexpected and intoxicating pleasure.

 

“Wait…  Outside?” She chuckled richly, producing an additional jiggling effect that also extended to her hanging breasts. They slapped the tub rim occasionally with a sound that she found profoundly comical,  _ thwap thwap thwap _ . “There are no warm sands in the Odai, my silly Khajiit. Just slaughterfish and washerwomen. Staring.” It was a giggle this time, definitely.

 

Making love sane – she had to think of it thus - was different, but she still liked it, she decided. One or two remarks she had heard from other Orcs made more sense now.

 

“Unfortunately true. Vvardenfell's accommodations for outdoor lovemaking leave something to be desired, but sex with an audience can be fun,” he said mischievously. She would no doubt be able to hear the cant of his ears in his voice. Ra'kesh had never been so adventurous in actuality, although the idea was appealing. He slowed his pace further, withdrawing all but the tip of his tapered cock and grinned, waiting for her reaction.

 

The water was nearing the brim of the tub.

 

“Definitely not -”

 

She gasped, reaching over to shove the pump handle upward and turn it off. She looked at him over her shoulder, through the curtain of her messy hair.

 

“Put it back in there  _ right now _ . I thought it was supposed to be women that were the teases.”

 

“Perhaps we should get something to eat first,” Ra'kesh said, grinning even wider and pulling out completely to trace her lips with the tip.

 

Kala groaned. "Oh, you bastard." One hand darted into the tub, splashing him with a scant handful of water.

 

“Hey!” He shook water the from his fur, laughing. “You win.”

 

Ra'kesh guided himself back inside with his hand and groaned at the familiar tightness. He quickened his pace, creamy-furred balls slapping against Kala's clit with every thrust.

 

_ Gods, she is so beautiful from this angle, too, _ Ra'kesh thought, looking down from half-lidded, lust-filled eyes. He loved her hair when it was free from its braid. There was something primal about this position, although their previous session had been wild and animalistic in another way. Who would have known the mild and proper Kala would be such a daedroth in bed?

 

“Ra'kesh will.. finish soon,” he panted between thrusts.

 

Kala grinned at the sound. Last night she had been so focused on her own sensations that she had not thought about what it must feel like to him; but now she did think of it, and triumphed in the awareness that she gave him pleasure.

 

The smile faded as she breathed harder, bracing her hands against the increasing pace of his thrusts. It was different, standing up, it took a little concentration not to let her knees get weak. But something about the angle was just as good if not better – every shove seemed to hit just right.

 

“That's right,” she said. “Do it. I want to feel you do it!” Now she was gasping, feeling the occasional involuntary contraction, and with it the thrill up her spine that meant orgasm was not far off.   _ Tighter _ . She crossed one leg behind the other, suddenly, trying to startle him into coming with the abrupt increase in pressure. Gods, it felt good. She could hardly stand it.

 

The sudden tightness that gripped him pushed Ra'kesh over the edge. He slammed his hips against her, cock pulsing against her inner walls with every jet of seed released deep inside. His eyes rolled up in his head at the jolts of pleasure.

 

_ “Drozha, drozha, _ ” he gasped. He relaxed when it was done, heaving a very satisfied sigh and wrapping his arms around her waist, urging her to stand.

 

The jet against her insides finally ended it, and Kala was gripped by the involuntary contractions for a solid half-minute. It was not the mind-bending explosion of last night, but it was still a splendid thing, tingles all the way out to her fingertips as ecstasy blossomed through her clit and cunt. The intensity of it tapered more gradually. She was still coming, occasional twitches running through her belly, when she felt him put his arms around her. She straightened up slowly, not entirely trusting her knees, breasts heaving.

 

“I'm still – ah – I'm still -” She tightened her hands convulsively over his hands, leaning her head back onto his shoulder. 

 

Ra'kesh freed one of his hands from hers and stroked his fingers over her clit while she still shook. He did not touch the little nub directly, but rolled it gently between two fingers with her own skin as a buffer. He kissed the neck exposed to him and waited for the tremors to pass, a satisfied purr rumbling in his chest. He felt a deep sense of pride at the expression on her face.

 

“Have fun?” he whispered into her ear when she melted against him.

 

“Oh, yes.” She turned her head to kiss the side of his muzzle. “I've never felt anything better. Never. You know I used to think I would die just to listen to you purr for ten minutes. I had no idea you could do that to a woman.” She turned in to rub her hand along his belly fur. “I'm actually sort of surprised anyone ever does anything else.”

 

Ra'kesh was genuinely surprised that she enjoyed his purr so much, but at least he didn't have to be self conscious about it.  It wasn't something he could easily control.

 

It occurred to Kala that there was something she was supposed to be doing this morning. Something she was suppose to have done yesterday. She was having the hardest time remembering what it was…

 

“Wait… oh, dammit, Ra'kesh.” She laughed again and nudged him away, climbing into the bath. “I have to go see Veridael still!”

 

“Most people do it constantly, even if by themselves,” Ra'kesh chuckled.  He reluctantly released her and watched her climb into the bath.  Kala had not expressly kicked him out of the room, so he leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms over his chest and one leg over the other.

 

Kala spoke as if she'd never had an orgasm in addition to never having had sex.  That couldn't be true.

 

“So..  you never..?” he looked at her sideways, tail curling in a little question mark to mirror his puzzlement.

 

“What, by myself? I tried it a few times when I was younger, but I didn't really know anything about it, and I gave up when I almost got caught.  I was an apprentice then, I slept at the guild a lot.  I think I probably achieved orgasm maybe… once? While I was sleeping.  I remember the dream.  But it still wasn't like this has been.  Nothing was.”

 

She washed as she spoke, eyes half-closed with enjoyment.  Hot water felt even nicer in the glow.

 

“Oh, I know men do it all the time.  I walked in on Celirius once in the bunks.  He didn't see me and I never told him I saw anything.  Gods, that was embarrassing.”

 

Ra'kesh doubled over in a fit of wild laughter at the image of a naive, wide-eyed Kala witnessing her peculiar classmate going to town on himself in a shared space.  He laughed so hard that his eyes watered.

 

Kala paused, sponge in one hand, to watch Ra'kesh apparently having a seizure.  She couldn't help grinning at how happy he looked.

 

“Ahh,” he sighed happily when the fit had ended.  He hadn't felt this good in...  ever.  “It is not just men.  You enjoyed it just as much, yes? But by all means, if Kala does not want to do it herself, call Ra'kesh and he will be pleased to offer his services.”

 

He closed his eyes and jerked his chin high, splaying a hand on his chest in a caricature of arrogance.  “Ra'kesh is a masterful lover.  He lights a fire in the loins of all the ladies from Daggerfall to Tear!” He peeked at her from the corner of one eye.

 

“Maybe not  _ just _ as much, or I'd have tried it more often.  Wait… Daggerfall to Tear? That sounds like a very busy schedule, loin-fire-lighting-wise.  There must be little half-Ra'kesh's running all over the – whoops.” She paused squinting one eye, as a thought occurred to her.  “I need to look something up.”


	5. Chapter 5

Kala got out of the bath hurriedly and grabbed a towel and a comb.  “Are Khajiit fertile with Orcs?” She canvassed her memory but only came up with the contents of _Racial Phylogeny_ , which had been completely unhelpful on the important point.

 

_ Well, it's not the end of the world if I'm pregnant,  _ she tried to convince herself.   _ I can raise a little Orcjiit.  It's not as if it'll age as slowly as an elf or anything. _

 

At least she did know how to prevent it happening if it hadn't already happened.  She had found a footnote in an alchemy text that she still owned.  Now, if she could only remember where it was… Kala combed out and braided her hair quickly.

 

“Uh,” Ra’kesh said, face and posture dropping to something more serious.  “He has never heard of such an offspring.” Ra'kesh had never known a half-breed Khajiit, although an elf-Khajiit hybrid could probably conceal their origin.  But even stories of Khajiiti slaves impregnated by Dunmer masters did not exist, to his knowledge.

 

“Probably we are too different,” he said a little sadly, climbing in the bath after her.  The water was lukewarm and good enough for him.  He didn't really care to bathe, but perhaps Kala would not like him smelling of sex during their visit.

 

“I see.”  Kala was surprised to hear his tone as there was gentle sloshing behind her, and she looked up into the mirror at the set of his ears.  She had expected him to be horrified by the idea.  It touched her that he was not.

 

“Your hair is very beautiful when it is down,” he said without thinking.

 

Kala darkened again.  Even though they had been physically intimate twice, there was something yet more intimate about that sort of compliment.  She was used to  _ I suppose she's not so bad for an Orc.   _ Any variation on  _ very beautiful  _ was so foreign as to be absolutely incredible.

 

“Thank you,” she said, grinning sheepishly.  “You may end up regretting how much I love those ears.  Now that I can touch you I'll never have my hands off them.”

 

And with that she flounced off to get dressed, humming to herself.  She could brew a simple long-lasting contraceptive from things she had downstairs, just in case.  Her stomach complained of recent events, grumbling audibly.

 

Ra'kesh slouched into the water to hide his smile, skin flushing beneath his fur.  If he weren't completely spent, the thought of a nude Kala rubbing his ears might have got him hard again.  He washed up quickly, eager to eat, and returned to his own room to groom himself.

 

With nothing else to wear, Ra'kesh donned the shirt that had belonged to Kala's brother.  He was shocked to find that it fit much differently this time.  Still loose, but it did not hang from him like a blanket.  His chest and shoulders had filled out.  Ra'kesh was grinning as he retrieved his pants and belt from Kala's room and made his way downstairs fully clothed.  Kala should be dressed and downstairs as well by now.

 

He picked up the shredded shirt from the floor and held it in front of him, inspecting the damage.  Quite impressive, really.  He probably couldn't rend fabric with his bare hands.

 

“Perhaps this one will buy more shirts.  As much as he enjoys Kala's...  passion, polite society demands the wearing of clothes.” He threw it over his shoulder to toss in the rubbish bin when they left and picked up Kala's own ripped underthings.  That didn't look worth saving, either.

 

Kala was indeed dressed and downstairs, wearing a green robe and a slightly newer set of linens that she had set aside for being too tight just after she bought them.  They fit now, she was pleased to note.  She had collected her potion belt from the downstairs floor and put it on, and thrown the robe she had been wearing into the bathroom laundry hamper.  She wasn't quite sure where her old linens had ended up, but she had a vague memory of a lot of things being torn.

 

She was staring morosely into the cupboard when she heard Ra'kesh descend the stairs.

 

“We have no food.  Starvation is imminent,” she informed him.  “I may be prepared to risk a street vendor purely in order to save our lives – is that Kord's old shirt again?” She laughed as she turned to look at him, hands on her hips.  “That's it, after we eat and before we go back to Caldera we are going to a  _ tailor  _ and I am going to order you  _ six  _ entire shirts.  Six.”

 

“Good idea.  Then it will be six days before Ra'kesh must go out for more,” he snickered, opening the door and stepping out into the street.  He wadded up and binned the torn scraps of their clothing while Kala locked the door behind them.

 

It was another sunny and bright Balmora afternoon.  Ra'kesh felt unusually well-rested and energized.  He ought to head over to the guildhall to report the outcome of his previous assignment and pick up another, but that could wait until they had seen Veridael.

 

“Shopping list: scrib jelly, bread, hound meat, shirts,” Kala said as she followed him out.  She smiled up at the sun.  Everything seemed different, somehow.

 

“You never did tell this one much of your family,” Ra'kesh said as they walked side by side towards the market.  He could surmise that Kord was a brother, but he had never heard their names before.

 

He glanced down at the hand swinging at her side.  Kala was so reserved; would she care if he held it in public? What would the neighbors think? Some of them knew he had been a slave.  Ra'kesh moved to grab her hand but aborted at the last second and clasped his hands behind his back instead.  His tail jittered nervously but his ears looked straight ahead.

 

“My family? Oh, they're smiths.  They live on the state in Suran.  My brothers still live there as well, the last I heard.  Kord is the eldest, and he's married now.  I think his wife specializes in adamantine weapons.  Zel's been in negotiations with a family from Orsinium for months now, trying to get his marriage arranged, but last I heard things were going slowly because it's all by mail.  And there's Dra'viji.  She's been with the family since I was a little girl.  She started out as the housekeeper.  She's very old now, but she might as well be an aunt.  Bosses everyone about.” She chattered on merrily as they walked, enjoying the sun.  A movement caught her attention from the corner of her eye.  Ra'kesh's tail was dancing all over the place.

 

_ Ah.  He's worried about what they'll think. _

 

“They really disagreed with my becoming a mage, but they still supported me during my apprenticeship,” she said.  “My parents deeded me their old house.  I don't think they'll find it any odder for me to be living with a Khajiit.  It might be awkward at first, but they won't disown me or anything.”

 

She did not introduce the topic of marriage.  That seemed a little fraught for the first day after their first real joining.

 

He listened to her talk with interest and wondered if he would ever meet these people.  How did a family of Orcs act when they got together? For some reason he imagined them as very rowdy, which made him smile.

 

“An arranged marriage with a stranger from far away seems very dreary,” he said, then clamped his mouth shut when he considered that Kala's parents might have had an arranged marriage too.  Somehow, he could not see Kala ever accepting such an arrangement - not that she would ever need to, being as sweet as she was.  He was impressed that she had made her own way in the world coming from such a traditional family.

 

They had reached the market, bustling with midday traffic.  Scores of carts offering various foodstuffs such as fruits, sweets, and fresh baked bread and meat pies lined the walkway that led to the river where the raw, still-flopping fish were being sold.  Ra'kesh could smell grilled hound all the way from the next street over, which made him salivate in anticipation.

 

“It can be, if you have no choice, or if your parents only care about money and property and not about whether you suit one another,” Kala said.  “Zel has been writing letters to this woman for a long time, and her parents have been writing to my parents for even longer.  I think they've got a decent chance if they can ever get through the negotiations – meat pies!”

 

She stopped to wait for the Dunmer in front of them to be served, then stepped up with a jangle of coins and a bright smile to buy a scrib-and-guar pie.  “Do you want one, too, or would you rather have fish? Or both?” she asked Ra'kesh.  The pie-man eyed them curiously.  He had his black hair shaved into a thin mohawk, not an uncommon style for working-class Dunmer.

 

“A pie would be wonderful,” he said honestly.  He could have eaten boot leather by now and enjoyed it.  He watched Kala count out the coins for both of them, an embarrassing reminder that he was not to be trusted with his own gold.  But she never seemed to mind.  He stared at her wistfully as Kala accepted her pie and handed one to him.  Someday, he would repay her for everything.  He just didn't know how yet.

 

“Thank you.” He stepped away from the crowd with his food, wrapped in a paper and delightfully warm in his hands.  It was not hot from the oven, but it was decently fresh for street food.  Ra'kesh scarfed the meal with fervor.

 

People passed without paying them any mind, some stopping to buy their own pies.  Kala waved at an acquaintance once.  The Dunmer waved back bemusedly.  Everyone knew about the Khajiit now, so she didn't feel the need to stare.  Much.  Everyone also knew that he had fought off four assassins single-handed.  The tale might have grown slightly in the telling.

 

“Hold on,” he said after he was a few bites in, cocking an ear at her.  “Why fish? Because Ra'kesh is Khajiit?”

 

Kala paused in her own enthusiastic pursuit of getting a pie from outside to inside.  There was a sliver of onion draped over one tusk.  She removed it quickly.  She didn't remember meat pies tasting this good.  She might have to go and buy something else to see if stuffed cross buns had improved, too.

 

“Yef.” She poked at the onion until it disappeared inside her mouth.  “Latent racism.  Highly inappropriate.  How about a cross bun, then? I haven't talked to Dra'sill in a while but I think she's still selling them down the street.”

 

Ra'kesh politely focused his attention on his pie while Kala wrestled the onion on her tusk.

 

“A Khajiit with a sweet tooth is one stereotype that is true in this instance,” he said with a nod.

 

Kala thought to herself that it was people who didn't like sweets that she didn't understand, regardless of species; but perhaps that would sound like protesting too much.  He didn't seem upset about it.  It was lovely just walking together and eating without any immediate thing that had to be done.  Shirts and monogram and Veridael were all matters of little enough urgency.

 

They walked at a leisurely pace down the river while finishing their meals.  Ra'kesh balled up the leftover paper with the intention of tossing it at the first guard with their back turned - one could not even feel the ping through a helm but it was satisfying nonetheless - but after a glance at innocent Kala he pocketed it instead.

 

It felt so good to be doing nothing with Kala, with no pressing worries to weigh them down.  There was the matter of Veridael's findings, but whatever horror the man had unearthed could remain secret from the world tomorrow just as easily as it had yesterday.

 

Kala steered them towards a cart full of gleaming cross buns and other sticky treats manned by a small Khajiiti woman, an orange and black calico with a white throat.  Jade beads on a ring decorated her left ear.

 

“Sera gra-Nend, it has been so long since you have been to see this one! Good day, good day.  And who is your handsome friend?” Dra'sill purred, flicking vibrant green eyes from Kala to Ra'kesh.

 

Kala grinned at Dra'sill.  “Good morning, Sera Dra'sill, you're looking as pretty as ever.  My handsome friend is Ra'kesh, whom I have regaled with the deliciousness of your wares.  Will you sell us a pair of cross buns? Is there any comberry filling left?”

 

“Such flattery! Indeed there is, Sera.  One of Dra'sill's popular sellers.  That is four drakes, of course.” She used her claws to pull their hot cakes towards them with the corner of the paper they sat on, careful not to touch the food with the same fingers that handled money.

 

“Enjoy, and remember to visit again!” Dra'sill waved them off cheerily before turning to her next customer.

 

Ra'kesh brought the hot bun to his nose but did not bite into it right away.  He inhaled the scent in joyful anticipation.  Not so long ago, all food tasted like ash and the very thought of eating made his stomach turn.  He survived almost entirely on boiled kwama eggs for the longest time because they were cheap, easy to digest, and fairly nutritious.  Barring the sweetroll from two days ago, Ra'kesh hadn't had anything sweet in months.

 

He was slowly rediscovering the small joys in life to be had without skooma.

 

Ra'kesh ate slowly as they walked further.  Every sweet, fruity bite was savored before swallowing.  The end came too soon, but his stomach was pleasantly full and there were claws to lick clean.

 

\---

 

Esmera slowly peeled back the lavender bandanna that covered her eye.  It was a pretty thing, embroidered with flowery designs in white thread.  Not really her style, but she was not in a position to complain.  She wondered if Lirellanor would miss it.  The Altmer had retreated upstairs after giving the hand mirror to Esmera.  Perhaps she could tell that the Redguard wanted to be alone for this.

 

There wasn't any pain now.  Lirellanor had been to the temple to buy a potion of healing, something much stronger than the kind Esmera carried.  Whatever lay behind the cloth was fully healed.  She held her breath and raised the mirror.

 

The eyeball was completely destroyed, but what remained of her sclera had healed.  It looked like a tiny, misshapen eye with no iris in the corner of an otherwise empty socket.  Lirellanor had done a good job cleaning off the blood while she slept.  Esmera exhaled heavily through clenched teeth and pulled the bandanna over the eye again.

 

She finished dressing herself in the armor and headed for the door.  A tall robed figure stood at the base of the stairs.

 

“I beg you, do not throw away the life I went through the trouble to save.” Lirellanor said calmly.  Attempted mugging, the guards had said.  As if a Khajiit in Labor Town had anything a fully armored swordswoman would want.  She didn't know if it was the Redguard or the Khajiit who had wronged the other, but it was most likely both were guilty in some way.  She was quite sure that whatever their quarrel, it was not worth the loss of an eye or a life.

 

“Thank you,” Esmera said stiffly and let herself out.

 

Esmera headed to see Augustus in the Foreign Quarter immediately and instead found nearly every member of his inner circle in a heated discussion in the main dining room.  The room fell quiet as she entered, indicating something grievously wrong.

 

“What's going on? Where is he?” She fought to keep her voice level.  Svognir stood and approached her, taking Esmera by the arm.

 

“Esmera..  Augustus was killed,” he said as gently as his gruff nature allowed.  The others in the room turned away uncomfortably.  Her mouth dropped open, stunned.  The room and all its people seemed so far away.  She was still in an alley bleeding out; this could not be reality.  She sucked in air after realizing she'd been holding her breath.

 

“Maybe you'd better have a seat in the other room,” Svognir said.  The woman looked like she was about to pass out, but his voice snapped her back to reality.  Esmera's face twisted in fury and she wrenched her arm from the Nord.

 

“Just tell me what happened!”

 

He sighed heavily, having already repeated this story numerous times, and moved his gaze to the floor rather than her livid face.  There was a story behind that bandanna, but it would wait.

 

“It was the Morag Tong, happened in plain daylight, right in front of a guard.  She had a writ.  I couldn't do anything!” He clenched a fist, voice rising at the memory of his impotence.  “And she was half-hidden with Chameleon, so I didn't get a good look at her.” Esmera narrowed her eye at this.

 

“Was it an Argonian?” An unnaturally even voice concealed the rage and grief inside.  Svognir's eyes widened in shock at her guess.  It was all the answer she needed.  She continued, “That Argonian is the same who killed Waduuya.  I don't know how, but she is a friend of Ra'kesh's.”

 

“That- That's impossible!” Svognir sputtered.  “Waduuya is dead? No...  Maybe Ra'kesh paid her as a bodyguard, but-”

 

“You fool, the Tong do not act as bodyguards.  She was hunting us specifically and Ra'kesh helped her to find us.  Out of my way,” She knocked him aside with her pauldron and stalked past.  A chair scraped against the floor and a tall, wide shouldered Orc in netch armor stood to block Esmera's path before she reached the doorway leading to the bedrooms.  He glared down at her impassively from thick, meaty brows on an apish face.  Esmera knew him well; Mulak gro-Ugak, a huge idiot but a skilled fighter and very chummy with Svognir.

 

She turned back to the Nord with pure hate burning in her eye.  The others at the table remained silent and still.  Svognir stepped towards her with a slow, cocky stride.

 

“I'm trying not to be unkind, but you need to understand that with Augustus dead, someone has to take control of the business, and that someone is me.  Nothing will change for you if you can fall in line.  I'm willing to excuse your behavior - ”

 

“I don't care,” she spat.  “I was only going to get some of my things.  I've got to go back to Balmora.  Ra'kesh is our only lead to this Argonian, but I don't know how long he'll be in town.  We have to act fast.”

 

Svognir shook his head, mouth drawn in a tight line.  He said, “I'm not sending more men.  We need to focus on affairs here.”

 

She understood at once what this meant.  Svognir didn't give a damn that Augustus was dead or that his killer walked unpunished.  He might put on a show for everyone else, but all he really cared for was Augustus's gold and business connections.  The others were the same.  Right now they were all scrambling to grab a bigger piece of the pie for themselves.

 

“You're a fool, Svognir,” she growled.  “Ra'kesh betrayed Augustus.  It might be you he helps that Argonian hunt next.  Let me take what's mine and I'll deal with Ra'kesh myself.”

 

The Nord hesitated for a moment while he thought, but finally nodded to Mulak, who stepped aside without a word.  Esmera blew past him, chin held high.  Augustus kept gold in a safe behind a picture in his room the others did not know about.  She would carry some of it out with her things.  Esmera could never get close to Ra'kesh again.  People in that neighborhood might recognize her, and that damned Argonian might sniff her out even if she were disguised.  If Svognir would not help, she would hire another.

 

She would learn the name of the Argonian who had cost her an eye, even if she had to rip out all of Ra'kesh's claws to get it.

 

\---

 

Kala waved happily to Dra'sill.  She was glad she found in herself no irrational impulse to jealousy.  If Ra'kesh had resisted the urge to run away with a pie-seller to this point, he probably would not be overborne by it now.  She was more careful with her cross bun than she had been with the meat pie, wishing to avoid a comberry impaled on her tusks.  The sun was warm, and Ra'kesh radiated warmth beside her, tall and handsome with the golden light on his mane.  It was a perfect moment, one she would remember gladly in better and worse times.

 

As she brushed crumbs from her fingers she turned her steps toward the river bridge and the road up to the Commercial District.  She hadn't seen Healder and Lira since she had ordered her special occasion robe several months ago, but it was certainly time Ra'kesh had some shirts that weren't hand-me-downs or cheap off-the-shelf bargains.  It was the tail end of “winter” to the extent that Balmora had a winter, and hopefully most people had already bought their winter wardrobes but were not yet ready for spring.  It should not be the busiest season for tailors.

 

A Dunmer led a guar past them laden with iron pots and pans as they approached the plaza.  It clinked rhythmically.  The creature grumbled gently under its breath as they passed, fat pink tongue darting out to try and lick the comberry-scented Orc.  Kala dodged back into Ra'kesh, laughing, and threw one arm around his waist for balance.  The Dunmer grinned at them, red kerchief wrapped around his head, and tugged the creature's harness as he moved off.

 

“Now then, Growler.”

 

–

 

Saw-Them-Fall walked the plaza of High Town with dainty modesty, wearing a white blouse and a black skirt.  She held her head high but did not make eye contact with anyone, the behavior of an upper servant trained in manners; if she could not avoid looking at a guard or other person she would bow her head politely, apology spines half-lifted, and then look away after exactly a half-second.

 

Hnando Manor fronted on the Plaza about a quarter-mile from the Morag Tong's headquarters.  No one who lived there had seen her coming or going from the guildhall.  There were several discreet entrances and exits known only to guild members for that exact reason, including a sewer entrance for emergencies (and to pass through the Balmora sewers for any length of time must require an emergency indeed; this was not Vivec or Mournhold, where the cess was greatly diluted by magicka or natural springs).

 

A narrow alley separated the Manor from its two neighbors, equally old and wealthy homes with remarkably similar square mud fronts.  Hlaalu nobles did not set great store by decorating the exteriors of their homes, settling for better glazing on the bubble windows and more elaborate flower arrangements in the boxes out front.  The furniture on the roof would be more lavish, of course.  The neighbors might notice otherwise.

 

Saw-Them-Fall turned down the alley and kept going until she came to the unassuming door with the well-worn rag rug in front of it.  She rapped on it delicately with the back of one hand, then straightened her blouse and waited patiently.  A Dunmer matron, black hair bound tightly in a severe bun, opened the door and glared at her.

 

“You're an hour late, we've been wanting the scuttle this – oh.  You must be the maid applicant.  I  _ suppose  _ you're on time,” she said grudgingly.

 

“Yes, Mistress, if you please, Mistress,” said Saw-Them-Fall breathily, washing one hand over the other in a nervous gesture.  “This one is humbly prepared to serve.”

 

“We'll see how humbly.  Master Hnando wants to see you himself before we start showing you how we do things in the kitchen.” She shot the Argonian an almost pitying look as she stepped back to let her in.  “He has his little ways, and you'll have to be prepared to put up with them if you want to work here.  The last girl left in hysterics and we can't be having that, you know.”

 

“Yes, Mistress,” said Saw-Them-Fall, and tiptoed in after her.  The kitchen was full of steam from bread being baked, and a couple of other girls in common clothing under white pinafores – one human, one Khajiit – were scooting about.  Both were uncommonly pretty.  The matron, who upon closer inspection was wearing a green velvet robe with buttons all the way up to the chin, led her to a back stair and up to a richly appointed hallway.  The rugs and tapestries were harmoniously abstract, their threads in blues and purples.  The door across from the main stairs – much wider and straighter than the servant's stair – was shut.  The Matron went and rapped on it gently.

 

“Enter,” said a gruff voice.  The Matron opened the door, bowing respectfully from the shoulders.

 

“Master Hnando, the maid applicant is here.”

 

“Good, good.  Send her in.” The woman waved Saw-Them-Fall forward, then bustled off back to the kitchen.  The Argonian found herself in a spacious office, broad-leafed plants in pots by the window, shelves lined with gold-bound books.  An older Dunmer was just rising from behind the desk.  His robes were elaborate in purple and tan silk and velvet, and he wore his hair in a knot bound with a gold cuff.  His face was just beginning to show lines around the eyes and mouth, indicating an age probably in advance of a hundred years.

 

Saw-Them-Fall curtsied deeply in the Imperial fashion, holding her skirts and bending her legs as she swept her tail around her knees in an arc.

 

“Very nice,” said Lord Hnando, emerging from behind the desk to eye her with a stare of unabashed evaluation.  “One doesn't see a black-and-green Argonian here in Balmora so very often.  Did you come from the Marsh when you were very young?”

 

“Yes, Serjo,” she said softly.

 

“Yes, Master,” he corrected.

 

“Yes, Master.  You are Kleanel, Fifth Lord of the Hnando?” Saw-Them-Fall gently rotated her right wrist behind a fold of skirt.  The little burst of sparks was almost totally hidden.

 

“Of course I am, girl, what sort of stupid question is GHERK.”

 

The Argonian watched him crumple, expression startled, daedric dagger embedded in his eye socket.  She had been practicing her throws since the incident in the Labor District.  She was relieved that it had killed him without undue noise; after the Redguard's dreadful screams she had begun to doubt her own aim.  Now she extracted the contract from the pocket of her skirt, went to open the door, and walked calmly downstairs with it.  One of the Hlaalu guards posted inside the front door at the bottom of the stairs turned to stare at her.

 

“Stop there, you.  You use the servant's entrance like the other girls.”

 

“I am an agent of the Morag Tong.  Kleanel Hnando is dead.”

 

“What? Show me your contract!” He moved forward, drawing his sword as he held out an imperious gauntlet.  She laid the roll of paper delicately in the bonemold first and waited while he looked it over, muttering.

 

“Wait,  _ that's  _ an assassin?” said the other guard, helm tilted at a quizzical angle.

 

“Of course it is, idiot, they can look like anyone.  All right, this looks correct.  Vero, open the door for the lady.”

 

The other guard opened the door and ushered her out, posture still confused.  From upstairs there was a scream.

 

“Probably hired by his son,” said the first guard behind her as she padded quietly away.  “You can have the lot of them, far as I'm concerned.”

 

“You can't say that, they'll hear you.” The door clicked shut.


	6. Chapter 6

Ra'kesh danced to the side on nimble paws when Kala fell against him.  He regained his composure and looked wide-eyed at the laughing Orc whose warm arm encircled his waist.  Heat rose on his cheeks, which he chided himself for.  He had always stood proud in the face of Dunmer racism; why should he care if they saw him displaying affection for an Orc? He threw an arm around Kala's waist, suddenly feeling very silly that he'd been so nervous before.

 

The warmth that bled through his side was satisfying in a way he could not understand.  Ra'kesh had seen couples walking thus and perhaps yearned for such companionship, but he had never really known anyone with which he was comfortable enough to do so.  It was strange and new, but divine beyond words.

 

He opened his mouth to say something to her when a familiar face across the plaza caught his eye.  Ra'kesh looked again to be sure.  It was indeed Saw-Them-Fall, although seeing the Argonian in a long skirt was almost comical to him.

 

“Look who it is,” Ra'kesh said to Kala, and waved his arm over his head to grab the Argonian's attention.  It seemed as if she might be working, so he didn't want to call her name in public.

 

“Oof, sorry,” Kala said.  “Thank you for saving me from Squishy Tongue.  It is a fate worse than death, you know.” She smiled as she righted herself, feeling him put his arm around her in turn.  She felt almost giddy.

 

Then she turned to look as he waved at someone over toward the streets that led to High Town.  Sure enough, it was the same small black-scaled Argonian with the gray cheek blazes and the two little horns on her broad crest.  

 

“Is she wearing a dress?” It was hard to imagine.  Kala waved at her in turn.

 

Saw-Them-Fall turned at a movement and was surprised to see the familiar Orc and Khajiit, each with an arm around the other.  She turned to approach them, nostrils flaring.  Well, they had finally achieved one form of agreement, at least, that much was obvious even in the cacophony of scents that made up the Commercial District.

 

“Good morning,” she said.  “How does the day greet you?”

 

Kala just grinned.  Saw-Them-Fall viewed them both with technical comprehension – she knew how people in a new sexual relationship tended to behave – but only in the most distant intellectual sense.  She had never wanted to do that with someone badly enough to carry it out.  So far she had been able to avoid having to attempt it as part of her work.  She was aware that some of her Sisters and Brothers leveraged the athletic body of an assassin very effectively in disarming their quarry, or trading favors in order to get to one; but she had always managed without that.

 

“The day is wonderful, and yours?” Ra'kesh said with a wide grin, giving Kala a brief squeeze.  He was glad to see Saw-Them-Fall alive and well.  Ra'kesh suddenly felt a little sheepish in front of the Argonian, but he wasn't about to remove his arm.  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and nervously brushed his shirt with the free hand.

 

“I have been successful in my contract this morning.  I owe a favor to a Brother, and I meant to discharge it before I go to give my full report,” she said, in a slightly less grave tone than was usual for Saw-Them-Fall.  It was a tone in which one might discuss the weather, or one's impending dinner.  She nodded in response to his second question.

  
  


“So..  is her business in Vivec concluded?” Ra’kesh asked in a lower voice than before, quiet and serious.

 

“Yes.  Very quickly, if it gives you any ease.  But I did not see the Redguard there.”

 

Kala frowned.  “So she's still alive somewhere.”

 

“It seems likely.  I have been asking here and there, and no body of that description seems to have been found.”

 

Kala did not ask what “here and there” meant in this context.  She suspected she would not get an answer.  She noticed that Saw-Them-Fall seemed to feel no apparent disapproval, or even much interest in the change in their behavior toward each other.  Perhaps she just wasn't interested in things outside her work.  Kala was not likely to forget how frettingly obsessed with the job and its rules she had been.

 

“Thank you,” Ra'kesh sighed.  If Augustus had to die, at least it was quick.  Ra'kesh found the news did not bother him nearly as much as he thought it would.  Perhaps it was for the best.  That chapter of his life could finally be put to rest.  It was troubling to think that Esmera may still be alive, though.

 

“We will be vigilant, but Ra'kesh is not too concerned.” He shrugged, acting more at ease than he felt.  “Without Augustus to pull the strings, she may never return.” He recalled Kala's magnificent display of power in the sewers- she could fry Esmera in seconds.  Kala would most likely be fine, but it made Ra'kesh sick to think he had led this danger to her door.

 

Ra'kesh had watched Saw-Them-Fall's face as she spoke.  It was hard to glean anything from her tone or expression.  Ra'kesh owed his life to this curious person and wished that he could show her some sort of kindness, but the Argonian seemingly lived only for work.  Anything else was excess.  Would an attempt at friendship be welcome, or a burdensome intrusion?

 

“We will not keep you from your favor, but friend Saw-Them-Fall should visit some time,” Ra'kesh said, a friendly smile breaking across his previously solemn face.  “We could have slaughterfish, fresh and not cold leftovers next time.”

 

“Yes, by all means,” Kala said, giving Ra'kesh a squeeze.  She was touched.  He really had become a good man.  Perhaps he had been one all along, and had only been waiting for a chance to heal in order to show it.

 

Someone ought to reach out to the Argonian, and it might as well be them.  Saw-Them-Fall seemed very alone whenever they had seen her, small and quiet and moving along in her own tightly constricted world.  Perhaps that was why no one really seemed to take notice of her as she passed – there was something about her that was detached from everything, as if she was not completely real.

 

Saw-Them-Fall tilted her head up at the Khajiit, apology spines flattening as she thought it over.  Her nostrils remained wide as she tried to assimilate further clues.  Surely if they were just embarking on an intimate relationship they did not want other people in the house? She supposed people could only engage in such things for so long every day.  There was no bitter tinge of adrenaline to suggest definitely lying.

 

Her experience with voluntary socialization was very limited.  It would be valuable to spend some time with people who were not Morag Tong.  It would make her more plausible in mixed company, she told herself.  It was not an emotional decision.  Saw-Them-Fall did not make emotional decisions.  She was very firm with herself about that.

 

“Thank you,” she said.  “Perhaps I will call on you one evening… or morning.  When you are not ahem.  Busy.”

 

Ra'kesh quickly broke eye contact, but the smile didn't leave.  He scratched the side of his face while looking at the ground, head tilted to the side.

 

“Yes, erm, well.  Ra'kesh looks forward to it.  Have a pleasant day, then.” He waved and waited until the Argonian was out of earshot before exhaling the breath he'd been holding.  “Ra'kesh can never guess what that one is thinking.”

 

Kala smothered a laugh as she patted him and let go.  “Probably no one can, and it's probably completely on purpose.  Come on, let's go order those shirts.  Healdar and Lira's shop is off the main plaza over there.” She pointed toward a smaller street, not the one leading to the Guilds but nearby.

 

As they walked she said, “Did she ever tell you how old she is? She looks younger to me than she acts.”

 

He thought for a moment, trying to recall.

 

“No,” he shook his head.  “But she did relate a rather sad story...” Ra'kesh repeated the tale she had told, of an unloving family and running away at thirteen to join the Morag Tong.  He supposed her aloofness could be attributed to this lack of parental love.  She'd been virtually raised by the Tong, so it was little wonder she took it all so seriously.

 

Ra'kesh entered the shop with some trepidation.  He'd never had custom made clothing before.  It was all a bit overwhelming for him as he was prodded and measured and quizzed on his preferences while Kala chatted with the tailors.  She seemed to be on friendly terms with every merchant in the city.  He balked at the price of six new shirts and three new pairs of pants, to be finished next week; 430 gold.  Ra'kesh reminded himself he was still rich even then.

 

It was a lovely day.  Kala could tell Ra’kesh wasn't completely comfortable at the tailor's, but at least he would have shirts.  She partly argued for the expenditure on the grounds that the shirt he was wearing had cost nearly 100 drakes, was from the same people, and was still good.

 

They shopped for foodstuffs afterward.  Buying food on a full stomach is never very exciting, but they were able to recall home and stock the cupboards with enough guar, scuttle, bread, slaughterfish and fruit to last the week.  Ra'kesh insisted on another set of sweetrolls.  It was early evening, around 5 o'clock, when they returned to the Mages Guild.  Ra'kesh melodramatically commented that he'd lose as much weight as he gained from all the walking they did every day.

 

Kala luxuriated in the thought of all that food, and even cherished a fantasy of inviting someone over just so they could see how nice it was with the new dishes and the cupboards full of bounty.  Well, it was always possible Saw-Them-Fall really would come over some evening.

 

“Yes, you are becoming a skeleton Khajiit,” she said with no sympathy whatsoever, poking him in the ribs.  

 

“By the way,” Ra'kesh said as Kala laid her hand on the door to the Guild.  “Uppity Dunmer lady believes Ra'kesh is still a slave but his bracers rusted off.”

 

She cracked up.

 

“Whaaat.  Why in the world would you tell Ranis that?”

 

“He does not know.  Because she is an irritating person, maybe.  She asked where Ra'kesh's bracers had gone; it was the best response.” He flashed his usual cheeky smile and ushered Kala inside.  He followed close, but not intimately so.

 

Athrys was at her desk as usual.  The Dunmer glanced up from her book, eyeing them with suspicious disapproval.

 

“No bracers.  You've been putting me on this entire time, haven't you, Wizard? That sort of prank will reflect very poorly on your future advancement.”

 

“No pranks,” Kala said calmly.  “I bought him in Tel Aruhn, we lost the bracers in Dagon Fel, and I never bothered getting new ones.”

 

“Is he your slave or not?”

 

“Not any more, no.”

 

“Hmph.  What do you want, anyway?”

 

“We're here to use the Guild transporter again.”

 

“All right, fine.  Just keep the fleabag away from me.”

 

Kala rolled her eyes as she started down the ramp.

 

Ra'kesh looked over his shoulder at a scowling Ranis, poked the tip of his pink tongue out and grabbed Kala's hand, lacing their fingers together.  He saw rage flash across the Dunmer's face just before they rounded the corner.  Ra'kesh leaned against Kala's side as they walked.

 

“Sorry if that was awkward,” he said, smiling.

 

"You know, she's technically my guild superior," she pointed out mildly.  "Now if I ever want to gain higher rank I'll have to go beg for jobs in Ald'ruhn." She didn't sound terribly concerned about it, and she continued to hold his hand as they proceeded toward Masilie's platform.  She wasn't, really.  The Ald'ruhn guildmaster was very reasonable, and she couldn't see a need for a rank above Wizard for a long time yet.

 

A moment later they were in Caldera.  One or two people watched them pass through the guildhall, and Kala thought she heard a giggle.  She looked a little sheepish.  A lot of people had probably seen them kissing outside the front door.

 

Ra'kesh winced.  He hadn't meant to cause problems for Kala.  His ears were sagging as they appeared in the Caldera guildhall and he despondently ignored the glances from the mages there.

 

He noted that the pemmican they dropped outside was long gone, either cleaned up by someone inside or eaten by birds.  The corner of his lip lifted at the memory of that moment, one he would treasure forever.  Ra'kesh perked up a little after that.

 

They asked for directions to Veridael's house outside of the guild so that none of them would know Kala was going to see him.  It was not long until they stood before the folksy two-story Imperial style home with steam piping from its narrow chimney.

 

The front door was open, and a tall Altmer woman in a very fine jerkin and leggings with embroidered shoes and a matching cape stood just outside it, watching an Orc and an Argonian carry furniture out to a cart.  Her hair was the same color as her skin, wrapped around her head in a crown of braids.

 

“Excuse me,” said Kala as they approached.  “Doesn't Veridael live here?”

 

“Not any more, I'm afraid,” said the Altmer.  She looked them over with only mild curiosity.  “You must be guildmates of his.  I hope you weren't close.  I've been told he got a little barmy there at the end, and his… I honestly don't know what, certainly not a cousin - is just as bad.  Oh, beg pardon, I'm being rude.” She bowed deeply.  “Helanien, at your service.  The late Veridael was my elder brother.  I'm here to take his things home to our parents.”

 

Ra'kesh's fur bristled.  It certainly hadn't been old age that killed Veridael.

 

“This is Ra'kesh, and he is very sorry to hear of your loss,” he said slowly, stunned.  His wide eyes darted to Kala to gauge her reaction to this.

 

She looked equally startled, blinking up at the taller elf.

 

“Kala gra-Nend, and please accept my condolences as well.  What happened to him? He can't have been over a hundred and fifty or so, surely.”

 

“A hundred and forty-five,” said Helanien.  “I was born much later and I did not know him well, but I gather he always had bad lungs, poor fellow.  Seems to have succumbed to an incurable malaise.  Can't get much out of his man about it.  Seems inconsolable.” She turned to speak sharply to the Orc bearer.  “Here, you, that's old Telvanni make.  Treat it with some care! Sorry, I must keep an eye on these fellows.  The other one's outside the wall by the grave if you'd like a word with him.  He can probably tell you more than I can.  Don't let the handsome face fool you, he's dreadfully simple or something.”

 

“Er… thanks,” Kala said, but the woman was already ignoring them.  She turned to head for the nearest city gate, frowning fiercely.

 

“If Helanien is taking all of the furniture and Serjo Fingernail is simple, what will become of him alone?” Ra'kesh hissed when they were away from the house.

 

The graveyard lay in the shadow of the castle, partially bordered by a short cobblestone wall.  The somber rows of stone tablets protruding from the ground made for a more tasteful resting place than a pit of ash, Ra'kesh thought.  Here the rich were divided from the poor as they had been in life; some had ornately carved stone, others had wooden stakes, and the poorest graves were marked only with a pile of stones.  It did not take them long to find the lone figure standing by recently turned soil.  Ra'kesh would have appreciated the scent of fresh dirt and grass under other circumstances.

 

“Nothing good,” Kala said.  “It doesn't sound like Veridael left any provision for him, or if he did they're going to ignore it.” She moved among the graves quietly.  A burial place did not frighten her in and of itself; the dead were dead, and these were truly laid to rest, not raised to guard their own tombs like many fallen Dunmer.

 

The Altmer who stood by the fresh grave wore homespun trousers and a linen shirt.  The shirt had been made for someone a bit smaller.  He strained it through the shoulders.  He was lean, but he had a more strongly triangular shape to his upper body than most Altmer, and the face that turned suddenly at the sound of footsteps was high-boned, hollow-cheeked, perfectly symmetrical; he was a High Elf as all High Elves imagined themselves to look.  A golden braid flipped over his shoulder as he turned to watch them approach, placing both hands on the handle of a shovel.  He was even taller than Ra'kesh, Kala realized as they drew closer.

 

His voice, when he spoke, was deep and resonant, but the accent was lilting and strange.  He spoke Cyrodilic very carefully.

 

“Veridael will receive no callers.” He glanced at the grave, perfect lips flexing downward.

 

“What happened to him?” Kala asked gently.  “I read something of his that we found in Drakan-Ka.  I was hoping to talk to him about it.”

 

“He was taken in the night.  I should not have slept.  I could not disobey him.”

 

Ra'kesh knew two things at once.  One, the elf that stood before them could not be a copy of Veridael.  If he were a true copy, surely the sister would have reacted with horror, and this man was too perfect to be real.

 

Secondly, he was not simple.  The mentally infirm did not learn second languages.

 

“There was nothing you could do.  Veridael was ill, yes?” Ra'kesh asked, just to be sure.  His ears flicked backward and his brow wrinkled in sympathy.  This creature, whatever he was, appeared to have cared for Veridael deeply enough to be harmed by his death.

 

“I could have stopped the man in gray,” said the elf.  “You must not commit violence except at great need, Loriand.  Is there great need if someone tries to harm you, Veridael? Yes, I suppose.”

 

Kala frowned as she listened.  Some of the things he said were obviously learned by rote; his accent grew thinner in those moments.  A careless person might suppose him to be stupid, like a parrot.

 

“Loriand? Did he give you that name?”

 

The elf nodded.

 

“My name is Kala, and this is Ra'kesh.  I am from the Mages Guild, the Guild where Veridael was a member.  A man in gray killed Veridael?”

 

“He was leaving by the window.  The pillow was on the floor,” Loriand said.  “Things must be tidy.” He bowed to them both over the shovel handle, shoulders stooped as if weighed down.  “Three Blessings, Sera.  Three Blessings, Serjo.” His tone did not change between the two greetings.

 

Ra'kesh glanced at Kala with a disturbed frown.  His tail flicked slowly.

 

“Did Loriand recognize this man in gray? What race was he?” Ra'kesh had a feeling they would have to ask precisely the right questions to get anything from him.  Loriand did not seem to understand which information was the most important to volunteer.

 

“No.  His face was covered.” Loriand touched the lower part of his face, imitating a mask.  “He was one of the Dunmer, by his colors.”

 

“Did he take anything?” Kala asked.

 

Loriand shook his head.  “I put away all of the books.  They were on the floor.  Veridael hated anyone touching the books.  Everything was still there except the one that we burnt after we returned.”

 

“And the journal,” Kala said softly.  “He lost the journal in Drakan-Ka.”

 

Loriand raised his head suddenly.  “The name must not be said, Sera.  The name must be forgotten.” His posture did not change, except that the cords in his neck stood out; but his face was anxious.

 

Ra'kesh listened intently, trying to bring the pieces together in his mind.

 

“This makes no sense,” Ra'kesh said, shaking his head.  “Why kill Veridael? If the reason was related to..  that place, then why not murder Loriand as well? Did Veridael have enemies?”

 

“No one must know except you and I, Loriand,” said the Altmer.  “We will tell them you are my relation.” He frowned slightly.  “The journal will never be found.”

 

“They wanted the journal and to kill whoever knew the secret, but the man killed Veridael before he searched the house,” Kala guessed.  “Then Loriand walked in on him and he wasn't sure he could kill a giant perfect elf – were you armed?”

 

Loriand nodded again.  He glanced back at the grave.  A spear was indeed leaning against the stone, a thing of obvious Dwemer make.

 

“But how did they know in the first place? Did he tell someone?”

 

Veridael shook his head.  “You knew to look for the journal, Sera,” he said.  “How did you know?”

 

“We weren't looking for it,” she said.  “We were looking for the thing that made you.  I thought it was another Test of Pattern, something like that.  Ra'kesh found the book by accident before we left.  And I put together the map from a lot of different sources, not just Veridael's book.”

 

“Veridael was obviously keeping his findings a secret.  It still makes no sense to this one to kill him over it.  But...  this does mean that someone else knows about the machine.  If Veridael told absolutely no one, that means he was seen at the ruin,” Ra'kesh said darkly.  The assassin would probably come back for Loriand.  Ra'kesh's skin crawled as he realized the assassin may be nearby already.  He glanced around and found nothing untoward, but still did not feel safe standing out in the open.

 

He could not discount the possibility that Kala and himself had been seen in Drakan-Ka, or that someone watching Veridael's house had taken note of their interest.

 

“His academic findings mention the ruin,” Kala said.  “Just not that he found anything.  He must've decided on complete secrecy later, but he couldn't do anything about what was already published.  He just hoped nobody would go and check.  His published book makes it sound a very dull site.  Only someone as fixated as I was would have found it significant.”

 

She watched Ra'kesh looking around quickly and followed the direction of his thought at once, a chill running up her spine.   _ I wonder where the man in gray is now.  He can't be Morag Tong, he would've waited to show the guards his contract. _

 

“Loriand, I think you'd better come with us,” she said.  “Can you get your things from the house?”

 

“Yes,” said the elf.  “But would it not be simpler to end me?” He took the shovel over to a small shed at the edge of the graves and stuck it inside with a little  _ clank _ , then turned back to them with his arms at his sides.  His voice was weary.  “Veridael gave my orders.  Veridael is gone.”

 

Ra'kesh was wary of having a marked man come along, but what else could they do? Leave him to await his death?

 

“Do you think that Veridael wanted Loriand to die?” Ra'kesh said gently, mistaking what was probably pragmatism for the depression of one who had just lost his only “family.” He turned to Kala and said, “Assassin will not strike with Helanien about.  Perhaps we should wait outside the gate for Loriand so we are not seen together.”

 

Kala's brows knit as she listened.  Loriand shook his head at Ra'kesh.

 

“No.  But Veridael is still gone.”

 

“No one's going to kill you.  Go get your things,” Kala said, gently but firmly reinforcing what Ra'kesh had said.

 

“Yes, Sera.” The elf went at once to pick up his spear, laid it over his shoulder, and went into the city.

 

“So either he still can't deliberately disobey a direct order, or he's just more comfortable being told what to do,” Kala said, when he had gone.  “I'm sorry to drag you back into something like this, Ra'kesh, but I hate to just leave him.  That woman doesn't care in the slightest what happens to him.”

 

Ra'kesh sighed heavily, watching the gate Loriand had left from.

 

“No, Kala is doing the right thing,” he said tiredly.  Now Kala would have two dependents with dangerous baggage living in her home, and Loriand may never reach a stage where he could be self-sufficient.  The elf could probably work just fine, but interacting with the rest of society might pose a problem.

 

“Publishing your monogram would be a bad idea.” He looked at her sympathetically.  In a way it was lucky they had come; if Kala let the world know she had been to Drakan-Ka, she would have been next.

 

“Oh, damnation, you're right.” She ran her hands over her hair, squinting unhappily.  The thought of taking Loriand in did not bother her.  The thought of the entire trip being for nothing was harder.  Perhaps that was why Veridael had gotten sick, given up; Drakan-Ka was forever an unfillable gap in his record of publication, a heavy, unpleasant weight on his mind.  Kala had never even published anything important.

 

“Well, I suppose there's always a chance I'll be able to discover something else.” In an Orcish lifetime it wasn't likely, and she knew that, and probably so did Ra'kesh; but there was no point in dwelling on it now.  Not every Guild mage would have an academic career.  Many did not try.  She had hoped to be different, to be like gra-Muzgub and her potion work, to be more than just another stupid Orc making the flashy blinky lights.

 

Now that was an unworthy thought, she chided herself.   _ Practical things. _

 

“We'll have to put him in the guest room.  I know it's early days yet, but do you mind moving into the master bedroom with me?”

 

Loriand was already returning with a small knapsack over one shoulder.  He walked up behind Kala as she was talking and composed himself to something like parade rest, spear butt on the ground, both hands on the shaft.

 

“There ought to be enough closet space.”

 

Ra'kesh's stomach did a little flip.  A corner of his mouth moved up in a tiny, shy smile.

 

“He does not mind, of course.”


	7. Chapter 7

Ra'kesh eyed Loriand and his meager belongings.  It did not quite seem fair that a sister who hardly knew the man was cleaning out Veridael's belongings while Loriand, who was possibly more closely “related” to Veridael, if one could call it that, was left with only a bag of personal items to his name.

 

“Does Loriand know what is to become of the house?” Ra'kesh asked.  “And did you say anything to Helanien about where you are going?”

 

Kala was grinning stupidly when she realized there was someone looming behind her.  She followed Ra'kesh's gaze around to the towering Altmer.

 

“The house will be sold,” Loriand said.  “Don't worry, Loriand.  There's no need to make a will yet.” He shook his head.  “I said I was going.  She said off you go, there's a good fellow.”

 

“You know, I don't think I like her,” said Kala.  “Take my other arm, Loriand, we're going home.”

 

A moment later they were back in the house in Balmora, and Kala bustled around explaining to Loriand where to put things, changing the guest room sheets, shoving the hamper out onto the street for the laundry service to pick up, as Ra'kesh moved his things into the master bedroom.  The moons had risen by the time they were ready to think about dinner.  Loriand followed instructions closely, occasionally repeating something Veridael had said to him – apparently Veridael had had views on how clothes should be placed in a drawer, for instance – and in general seeming exhausted and lost.

 

Ra'kesh carried his few worldly possessions to Kala's room with a mixture of trepidation and nervous excitement.  Things were moving a little fast, not that he minded, but he didn't exactly know how to be with another person.  As Kala cleared out a dresser drawer for his person use, Ra'kesh was struck by the..  domesticity of it all.  A man who washed the dishes, neatly tucked his clothes into a drawer, and said “Yes dear, no dear” while living in a comfy little house was not the future he had envisioned for himself, mainly because he hadn't expected to live very long in his chosen career.  The uncertainty brought by Loriand just added another layer of anxiety to the situation.

  
  


Ra'kesh came downstairs from the bathroom, where he'd been stealing a few moments alone to think.  Tons of people in the Mages Guild knew Kala had been to Dagon Fel, although Ra'kesh didn't know if she had discussed specifics, and that Bosmer at Fort Moonmoth had a whole crate full of artifacts with their names attached to them.  Possibly it wouldn't lead to anything, but they could not make assumptions now.  His mind was conjuring up conspiracy theories of a shadow group which watched the ruins at all times and scoured the world for any trace of leaked secrets, sending operatives to put down the loose threads who threatened to expose them.

 

Ra'kesh's stomach growled as he rejoined the others downstairs.

 

“What does Loriand like to eat?” he asked, raising the inflection of his voice to appear cheery and friendly.

 

The Altmer was standing by the countertop, watching Kala put out plates as if trying to memorize her movements.

 

“I eat what I am given,” he said.  “It tastes fine.”

 

“Well, it will in this case,” said Kala.  She paused to listen to a sourceless growling noise from quite nearby, then grinned at Ra'kesh.  “Oh no.  A monster is coming to devour us.  Raar.”

 

She knew it was early to be asking Ra'kesh into her room to stay, but what else could they do? It seemed less awkward and more hospitable than putting up a cot for Loriand down here.  The Altmer was listening in puzzlement, but at least he had absorbed enough understanding of idiom not to be reaching for his spear.  He had brought it back down with him.  It was leaning by the stairway.

 

“Let's give him some of everything,” she said.  “He's huge, he probably needs a lot.”

 

As they ate, standing up because there were only two chairs, Kala thought over what to do about the Altmer.  Indeed, what to do in general now.  She could easily be found through the Guild if whoever-it-was tried to backtrack the Altmer's research.

 

“At least it's not the Imperium or the King's people,” she said suddenly.  “There would be less secrecy, or the assassin wouldn't have been so skittish.”

 

Ra'kesh chewed silently while processing what Kala said.  That might eliminate the possibility of being tracked via the donated artifacts, unless this person or organization had a rather wide net to cast.

 

“It was a Dunmer, so possibly a domestic interest.  And the Engine had not been destroyed, which means someone may plan to use it,” Ra'kesh added.  That was a horrifying thought; Morrowind grabbing any sort of advantage over the Empire would be disastrous for all.  He wished they had just destroyed the thing themselves when they had the chance.

 

“Perhaps we should tell the Legion about this,” he said quietly, not overly fond of the idea himself.  That technology did not belong in Imperial hands either, but it was better than Dunmer.

 

“No,” said Loriand.  “It must be forgotten.  These are forces that must never be wielded again.”

 

“The Empire  _ might  _ just destroy it,” Kala said.  “They already have an enormous army.  They don't need an army of clones created by ancient and possibly unreliable Dwemer technology.  They won't even reprogram the centurions and use those.”

 

The Altmer shook his head firmly, mouth set in a grim line.  “Might.”

 

Ra'kesh set his mostly empty plate on the counter and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  He was losing his appetite.  Another trip to Dagon Fel was the last thing he wanted to endure, but it was looking like the only solution.  At least Loriand would be there to help guard against Clannfear this time.

 

“We must go back?” he asked the others wearily.

 

Kala set down her own empty plate to reach over and rub Ra'kesh's lower back sympathetically.  Even in a situation like this one, she silently gloried in the ability to do so.

 

Loriand was still shaking his head.  “The machines of the Dwemer are not easily destroyed, for they still function after thousands of years.” It had the cadence of another quotation from Veridael.  “How would you do it, or how would the Empire?” He had eaten everything on his plate, and she had given him almost half again as much as herself.  Supporting a body that size must have been expensive for a sick man.  Perhaps it was why they had moved to Caldera.  Things were cheaper there.

 

“You don't know of a way?” Kala asked.  “Obviously we can't just hit it with a hammer, but what about spells?”

 

“My template within the machine is cth'hatan.  A training body, Veridael said,” said Loriand.  “I can fight, and if I fight a Dwemer, my strength will fail when they have learned enough from me and then they will kill me.  I have no knowledge of the machines.”

 

He still spoke of all of it in the present tense, and without any real emotion, a calm acknowledgment of the order of things.  It was a little eerie, Kala thought.

 

Ra'kesh studied Loriand's impassive face and wondered if the elf had a soul.  He still wasn't sure if he was capable of emotion.  Loriand appeared remorseful at the grave, but perhaps Ra'kesh's willingness to empathize made him see something which was not truly there.  He wanted to ask him so many questions such as Loriand's first memory of the world or how did he not have the intelligence of an infant, but Ra'kesh suspected the elf would not have satisfying answers.

 

He hadn't given any thought to how they would actually go about destroying the machine.  For all they knew the spider centurions could repair it.  Or someone could reverse engineer it with enough time and access to the broken parts.  Drakan-Ka and all of its inhabitants must be utterly demolished before he would feel at ease.  It really seemed too big of a task to be left in their hands alone.

 

Or they could capture the assassin, find out who his associates were, and kill them all.  Ra'kesh didn't bother mentioning that absurd thought.  He said nothing, listening quietly while scraping his plate and collecting the others for cleaning.

 

“I could burn all my notes and all the pages of the diary and leave the burned cover nailed to the front door,” Kala said.  “They've got to get the message then, right?” She followed Ra'kesh over to dry dishes and put them away.  Loriand watched them closely.  Kala sighed.  “Or they'd try to kill us all anyway, to make sure, or capture and torture Loriand.  They probably would've done that to begin with if they -” She stopped.

 

“They could have,” Loriand said.

 

“Apparently not,” Kala said slowly.  “The man in gray ran from you.” She glanced back at the tall Altmer.  “So he wasn't advanced enough as a mage to have a distance Drain Fatigue or Paralysis, but that doesn't mean much.  Most people who can do one or both of those are specialists in those disciplines.  Not just any assassin can do it.”

 

Or Loriand was fast enough that casting a spell on him before he killed you was not a viable option for whoever had hired the man in gray.  That thought occcurred to her as well.

 

“Loriand,” Kala said.  She turned to lean her hips against the countertop, edging over to be out of Ra'kesh's way as he finished rinsing a plate.  There was a thoughtful set to his ears.

 

“Yes, Sera,” said Loriand.

 

“What would you do if someone tried to cast a spell on you suddenly?”

 

“I would move.  Then I would stop them.”

 

“Can you demonstrate that without hurting me or Ra'kesh?”

 

“Yes,” he said.  “If you wish it.”

 

“I suppose it's a silly thing to - ” She twitched one hand as she continued speaking calmly, casting a health drain at the Altmer.  The spell would not kill him even if it connected.  It hadn't been that effectual so far.

 

Loriand moved.  She was aware that this happened because she saw him twist away at such a speed that he seemed to vanish, and then there was an arm around her throat, cinched tight enough to make breathing difficult.  The red ribbon of the spell stuttered and faded to nothing, lacking a target.

 

Ra'kesh jerked his head at the flash of red from his peripheral vision.  Before he could so much as shake the water from his hands, Loriand was on Kala.  He knew Kala had asked the man to demonstrate and he knew Loriand could not disobey orders, but it had happened so suddenly and his arm was on her neck -

 

Ra'kesh grabbed the Altmer's arm, lips pulled back over clenched teeth and ears flattened.

 

Loriand looked down at him over Kala's head, brows knitted slightly.  His face showed no sign of anger or aggression, only confusion.

 

“It's all right, it's all right,” Kala said.  “You can both let go now.”

 

Loriand released her slowly, but did not try to pull away from Ra'kesh.  The cords in his neck tensed up slightly as he stood waiting.

 

Ra'kesh let go abruptly, any trace of anger gone from his face.  He stepped back, tilting his head sheepishly with eyes on the floor.

 

“Ra'kesh apologizes.  You took him off guard.” He quickly turned and finished drying the last dish.  The embarrassment faded and he found himself impressed with Loriand's skill.  He put away the plate and turned towards them again, wiping his hands on a cloth.

 

“Z'chat veth han – there is no offense.” Loriand watched him, the set of his shoulders relaxing slightly.  

 

“Quite amazing reflexes,” Ra’kesh said.  His brows pulled together at a sudden thought.  “Loriand..  must you obey any orders? Or only certain people?”

 

“I could not disobey Veridael without pain.  He was a maker, the machine read it so,” Loriand said.  “With others I can do so if I choose, but it is an effort.  The more certain they are, the more of an effort it is.”

 

Kala squinted sympathetically.

 

“You probably shouldn't tell anyone else that besides us,” she said.  “Ra'kesh and I will try not to take advantage.  Other people won't feel the same way.”

 

Loriand nodded.

 

“You're quoting Veridael less,” she said.

 

“You are speaking to me more in ways that do not allow those responses.”

 

_ It is too bad his existence must remain secret.  Surely he has a complete understanding of the Dwemer language.  _  Kala could publish what she learned from him, but no one would take it seriously without a credible source, Ra’kesh thought.  She was already disappointed over losing her first discovery, no need to mention this as well.  Ra'kesh leaned against the counter with arms crossed.

 

“Ra'kesh has thought of something.  Why was there no army of clones waiting in the ruin already? Is this not what you would do if you meant to protect a place and had the ability?” Maybe they weren't up against a powerful shadow organization that desired to use the machine after all.  Ra'kesh shook his head, eyes squeezing shut.  Nothing made sense to him.

 

“Bah, enough of this.  Ra'kesh cannot think anymore.” This was a stressful ending to an otherwise wonderful day.  He wished it had not turned out so.

 

“I don't think they know where it is yet,” Kala said.  “It's why they wanted Veridael's journal.  They don't want to do all the research I did to get the location, and they don't have access to the library where I found the map.  It's only accessible to Guild mages above a certain rank, and it's in Wolverine Hall, where it's not easy to sneak in and out.”

 

She moved over to lean against Ra'kesh's side, reaching up to gently knead the back of his neck.  “Hey.  Let's go to bed.  We'll talk about it more tomorrow.  Is that all right, Loriand?”

 

Ra'kesh tensed against her hand for a microsecond before remembering: This is what people do when they are together.  He snaked an arm around her waist and smiled fondly down at her, relaxing into the soothing touch.

 

The Altmer nodded at Kala.

 

“Do you need me to tell you to go to sleep?” Kala asked.

 

“It would help,” he said quietly.  He looked as though he had not slept in some time; and, Kala thought, if he were capable of grieving at all for Veridael, that too must exhaust him.  Surely he must feel something.  He had obviously been very dependent on the elf.

 

“Loriand, go upstairs and go to sleep.” Her tone was firm and definite.

 

“Yes, Ser' Kala.  Good night, Serjo Ra'kesh.” He bowed sharply, from the shoulders, and turned to go upstairs.

 

“Good night,” Ra'kesh said, following the Altmer's retreat with his eyes, the smile fading away.  Being without autonomy must be a difficult life.  Loriand would forever be at the mercy of others who could easily abuse his nature.

 

“What you have done for him is a good thing.  Taking him in, not ordering him to bed, Ra'kesh means.  Kala is a kind person,” he said, almost proudly.  He gave Kala's waist a brief squeeze. 

 

Kala smiled up at him shyly, touched by the compliment.  “Thank you.  I wasn't sure how you were going to feel about that,” she said.  “I don't have to touch your neck if you don't like it, you know.” She squeezed him back.  “I'm still a little funny about my shoulders if I don't know it's coming.”

 

“No..  Ra'kesh likes it,” he reassured her.  He didn't know how to explain that a loving touch was foreign to him without sounding pathetic, so he left it at that.  He suspected he would get used to it quickly.

 

Ra’kesh released her and took her hand in his, leading her gently after him up the stairs.  Ra'kesh was tired and ready for bed, although he found his heart pounding in anticipation of his first night sleeping beside her.  

 

Kala yawned as she followed him upstairs, hand in hand.  It felt warm and real and right, a sensation she wanted to cherish forever; but forever was a long time, and right now she was sleepy.

 

The bedroom was lit well enough to see by the moonlight and streetlamps outside, the dark objects fringed in green from the tinted windows.  It was more than enough light for a Khajiit.  All of the familiar shapes were here.  The little ring dish on the dresser filled Ra'kesh with shame every time he looked at it.  It was just another sin he had to live with, along with many others.

 

He moved to the farthest side of the bed and gingerly stripped his shirt off over his head, folding it very neatly and placing it on the bedside table, and then his belt and sword, when he usually would have thrown them down wherever.

 

Kala took off her robe and shook it to get any dust off the hem, then hung it carefully in the closet.  She took off her boots and left them by the door.  She couldn't see well in the dark, but she knew the room well enough by now that she didn't really need to; her eyes adjusted enough to the weak light from the two windows that she could make out the shapes of things.  Generally she slept in her thin linens, in case there should be a fire or one of the neighbors should get locked out of their house by accident again.

 

Ra'kesh stripped to his linen undershorts, folding his pants as well, and climbed under the refreshingly cool blankets.  The bed smelled pleasantly of Kala, overlaid with a faint soapy scent from the last time the bedding had been washed.  Ra'kesh extended his arms over his head, grunting in satisfaction as the tired muscles stretched, and left his hands locked behind his head.  He watched Kala move toward the bed with a sleepy smile.

 

She crawled in next to him, leaning forward to bump her head into his shoulder, and then scooted around until her back was to him and cuddled backwards into the curve of his body.

 

“Mmm.  I could get used to this,” she murmured.  In another minute she would be asleep, feeling safer than she had felt in weeks.

 

Ra'kesh turned on his side to cradle Kala’s body with his own, one hand hugging her soft belly.  Her smaller body fit against him perfectly, as if they were made for each other.  He closed his eyes in satisfaction, a low purr rumbling in his chest.  The worries of the day were completely forgotten.  Nothing mattered as long as he could hold her like this.

 

“Goodnight, love,” he whispered, and was soon asleep.

 

\---

 

In the next room, the ch'hatan lay on his back, hands clasped on his stomach under the blanket.  His spear stood against the wall beyond the night stand, in easy reach.  There was no sound of Veridael's labored breathing from the next room.  There was no more Veridael at all.  He lay beneath the earth outside Caldera, where nothing would ever trouble him again.  It hurt Loriand in a way that he did not understand, a deep ache beneath his breast that none of his imprinting had described.

 

_ You will fight, and you will die.  This is your proper place.  Nothing else matters. _

 

Those were simple instructions.  They had turned out to be completely inadequate to being alive in a world that the Dwemer no longer ruled, had not ruled for lifetimes of elves.  Without orders, without situations that conformed to the rules, he felt lost.  For a while Veridael had been there to explain things to him, to give him more orders to cover the new situations.  Now Veridael was gone.

 

_ Loriand, go upstairs and go to sleep.   _ New orders were a desperate relief.  He repeated the words back to himself in memory a couple of times.  His memory was very accurate, bringing back segments of spoken word with perfect clarity.  Finally they seemed to sink in, and he felt his muscles unclench at last as the room began to blur and fade.

 

\---

 

Outside, a Khajiit wrapped in a tattered cloak huddled against a wall, head down and shoulders scrunched uncomfortably.  The hood was pulled over her ears, but a black muzzle flecked with dirt protruded.  Her white throat was not visible underneath the folds of filthy cloth.  She sat across from Kala's house now, a cracked collecting cup in her hands, but would not be seen this close to the house in daylight.

 

The Khajiit watched the auras inside the home with some confusion.  Esmera said their friend was a tiny Argonian, but two of the figures in the house were far too tall to be she, and the shorter aura was presumably the Orc who lived here.  Obviously, the Argonian lived elsewhere, but she needed to figure out who this other person was before acting.  She dumped the few drakes from the cup into her black palm and set off for the Cornerclub; she'd earned enough for a hot meal, and no one would be stirring in the house for many hours.


	8. Chapter 8

Kala's eyes flew open in the late hours of the morning the next day.  For a moment she was disoriented as the dream faded.  At some point during the night she had ended up facing Ra'kesh with one arm thrown over him, leg pressed between his thighs – the texture of his fur was irresistible, creeping into her dreams as fur blankets and giant cats and Ra'kesh, glorious Ra'kesh, naked and unashamed and grinning slyly above a surprisingly large pink -

 

There had been something else, though, something that was important to remember.  Some figure waving his arms and growling at her in a tongue of which she understood only a few words as he stood beside the Engine of Greater Difference.

 

_Dwemer.  A Dwemer would understand the controls._

 

“A Dwemer could destroy it,” she said aloud, voice creaky with sleep.

 

Loriand must already be awake.  She could hear the pump running in the bathroom.

 

Ra'kesh nuzzled into the pillow, vaguely aware that Kala had spoken.  He was in a tiny rowboat with Kala in the middle of an endless sea.  The tentacles of a giant Dreugh were draped over the side of the boat, feeling around blindly to grab them, but Kala did not seem the least bit concerned so Ra'kesh was not either.

 

“Tha's nice,” he murmured.  The light of day penetrated his eyelids as the dream faded away.  He felt the warmth of Kala's body and cracked open a golden eye to be greeted by her lovely face, hair mussed from sleep.  He enjoyed her like this- the private side of Kala only he was allowed to see.  The euphoria came rushing back once again.  Today was a good day to be Ra'kesh.

 

He grabbed her around the waist with one hand and scooted closer until her breasts were pressed into his bare chest.

 

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said, grinning.  “Did Kala say something just now?”

 

His eyes were lovely in the morning light, just as she had once imagined them.  She could see every tiny fleck on the golden irises, flat under the dome of each lens.

 

“Yes, handsome Khajiit, I did.” She reached up to wrap her free arm around his head so she could scratch the top, between his ears.  The fur there was short and very soft.  “But it can wait a minute.  I need to think it through, and if I'm right, it will take some time to do anything about it.” And anyway, there was no point in trying to get up and get ready when Loriand was in the bathroom.

 

Ra'kesh's eyes closed and the black-tipped ears drooped to either side.  His jaw relaxed, pink tongue tip poking out between his teeth and purred gently at the wonderful touch.  Had she come up with some sort of solution for the machine? Right now, he didn't care.  He reveled in the perfect moment for as long as he could.

 

“You have found one of Ra'kesh's weaknesses,” he said at length, after her fingers slowed and his stomach and bladder began telling him it was time to get up.  He reached behind to take hold of Kala's hand and kissed the underside of her wrist before releasing her.  Then, reluctantly, he disentangled himself from her and swung out of bed to get dressed in the same clothes from yesterday.

 

He could hear movement from the bathroom, but Loriand probably wouldn't be much longer.

 

“Ooh,” Kala cooed.  The look on his face was so perfect, and she'd been waiting to see it for so long.  She didn't know if everyone had the same fantasy about Khajiit and their soft, fuzzy ears, but she had been speculating almost since they had met.  She enjoyed it while it lasted.  Then she sighed happily at his kiss and nodded, rolling out of bed to tug the covers roughly into place and go look for today's robe.  She settled on a dull blue one.  She was not yet comfortable relieving herself in front of Ra'kesh; she would nudge him into the bathroom first and wait until he was done.  Besides, she needed to think and did not want to be carnally tempted this morning.  She was not likely to quickly forget the first time they had been in that room together.

 

Outside, the bathroom door clicked as the Altmer emerged.  A moment later heavy footsteps could be heard descending the stairs.  Loriand went downstairs with his spear on one shoulder, then laid it against the wall by the front door as he opened it to look outside.  He wore patched-together hide trousers, a plain blue tunic, and thin leather shoes.  His hair was plaited very neatly, as it always was.

 

Balmora's mornings were warmer than Caldera's, and there were more people about, already going to work or to do their laundry in the full light of morning.  A couple of women of different species appraised the tall golden elf as they passed.  He did not understand why women looked at him differently than most men did, or if it was important.  A faint smell of water wafted from the river, and a weak smell of fish as the wind changed.

 

Ra'kesh came downstairs yawning and saw Loriand at the door, no doubt inspecting the street as Ra'kesh had done not so long ago.  It was a bit disorienting to arrive in one's new home without ever having seen the outside of it or the city in which it resides.

 

“This one supposes Loriand has not been to Balmora?” Ra'kesh said conversationally, pulling out the pan and the oil.  He would ask the Altmer if he liked eggs, but suspected he already knew the answer.

 

\---

 

Fahrazadi's nose jerked towards the house.  Movement within.  The black Khajiit waited patiently in front of a house down and across the street, jangling her cup at the passersby.  Some looked at her with pity, some with scorn, and some did not look at all.

 

One of the tall occupants moved downstairs, and finally, the front door opened.  She quickly dispelled the life detection with a flick of her wrist to see him clearly.  The brawny Altmer that peered onto the street was quite a shocking sight.

 

 _So they have hired a bodyguard_ , Fahrazadi thought, narrowing hazel-green eyes.  That man was the one sleeping alone; so the Khajiit and the Orc were shacking up, as Esmera suspected.  Interesting.  Fahrazadi wondered if she should report this information or move ahead with the plan despite the hired help.  After a few moments of deliberation she laboriously climbed to her paws and hobbled, stooped over, down the street toward the commercial district.

 

\---

 

“Once, briefly,” said Loriand, head turning to glance over his shoulder at Ra'kesh.  “When I was new.  We took the Silt Strider to Caldera.  Not the guild, Loriand, people will notice.”

 

He did not notice the beggar woman retreating into the distance.  He was not familiar enough with the traffic of the area to find any such thing suspicious.  Even Kala probably would have just gone out to give the woman a coin.

 

“May I do the dishes today, please?” he asked.  A slightly plaintive tone crept into the usual impassivity.

 

Kala was in process of tying back her own hair, today in a loose knot at the bottom of her skull instead of in the braid she had worn for so long.  She felt obscurely uncomfortable doing her hair the same way as Loriand.  For one thing, his face was prettier.  She laughed at herself.  It was a stupid comparison, and she resolved not to make it again.  For all his beauty, the Altmer projected the same sensuality as a stone statue.

 

“Er, of course,” Ra'kesh said, a little taken off guard at first.  Perhaps Loriand always did the dishes with Veridael, or perhaps he was getting antsy with nothing to do.  Either way it was fine with Ra'kesh.  He looked over his shoulder at Kala, kwama eggs sizzling in the pan.

 

“Ready to share your idea?” he asked, turning back to flip the eggs.

 

She sniffed as she stepped down into the room.  “Mmmm.  Eggs.  Yes, I am.  My thought was this: Loriand doesn't know how to operate or destroy the machine because it read Veridael's fingernail as Chimer, so it made a Chimer and then taught him to be a – a ch'hatan.  Sorry, Loriand.”

 

Loriand nodded, turning back into the room.  He pulled the door shut behind him.

 

“So if we can find some bit of a Dwemer and put it in there, it will make a Dwemer.  And it will probably train _them_ on how to use the machine, because _they're_ supposed to be a Dwemer soldier.  Right?” She went to get the plates down and set them out around the counter.

 

Ra'kesh cocked his ears back as he listened to Kala's thoughts.

 

“That is quite clever,” he said, tilting the pan and scraping cooked egg onto each plate with a spatula.  He reached into the cupboard to retrieve bread.  “But where in the nine provinces does Kala expect to get Dwemer remains?”

 

“Drakan-Ka had no ghosts, but Arkngthand is haunted,” she said.  “Everyone in the Guild knows there are restless Dwemer there.  If the machine can read fingernails I bet it can read ectoplasm.  Your sword may or may not hurt them, but spells definitely can.  We hike out there, find a ghost, I electrocute it, and then we scrape up as much ectoplasm as we can and we take it out to Dagon Fel.  The machine's created Dwemer probably can't disobey the person who operated the machine.  He or she will have to destroy it for us.”

 

Ra’kesh sliced bread for each of them and carried two of the plates to the table, then poured two cups of water for the table as well.  He didn't mind standing while he ate.

 

“He seems to recall that only silver can harm spirits,” Ra'kesh said thoughtfully.  It was a good plan.  “But maybe he will get his sword enchanted; Ra'kesh certainly had gold to spare.  Loriand, you may sit.” Ra'kesh gestured to one of the plates, then grinned at Kala.  “Next time we are in the machine room, we can recall out with one of the fancy Dwemer chairs.”

 

She threw up a hand as she took a plate with the other.  “Why not.  We're talking about crashing the ruin in on top of them, it can't be worse than that.”

 

Loriand sat down promptly.  He ate very neatly and correctly, and he ate everything he was given.

 

“Precisely.  We should preserve the lost artistry of Dwemer seating technology for future generations before it is lost forever,” Ra'kesh said, and proceeded to wolf down his breakfast while standing.  He continued, gulping down a mouthful of egg and gesturing with a fork, “Today Ra'kesh shall go to the guild - damn, this one recalls that he never reported back to the Fighter's Guild.  He should do that now.  Anyway, Ra'kesh will get this sword enchanted.  Does Kala have gold enough for that without a trip to the bank?”

 

“Only just, but that's all right,” Kala said.  “We'll need to withdraw another thousand for the trip to Dagon Fel.  We've eaten most of the pemmican from the first trip.” And they had Loriand, who ate a startling amount.  Kala ate slowly, thinking, as she stood leaning against the counter, unconsciously intermediate in height between Ra'kesh standing and Loriand sitting.

 

“Arkngthand is less than a day's hike, so we should be all right to walk out and recall back without special preparations.  It's been visited enough times that there's only a few spiders and the ghosts that keep coming back.  Bandits are more of a likely issue.” Her stomach clenched in memory, but outwardly she remained calm, eyelids closing slightly from the bottom just for a second.  “I think that's probably going to be more of a problem for them than for us.”

 

Loriand nodded seriously.  “Banditry is a terrible scourge on a law-abiding populace.”

 

“Is that another quote?”

 

He nodded again.

 

“Perhaps if the Empire provided equally for all of its citizens, no one would feel the need to turn to banditry,” Ra'kesh said very amicably.  It was typical of elves to blame individuals for the problems of society, which they in turn were a part of.  Ra'kesh was not at all bothered since Loriand was merely parroting Veridael's views.

 

He used the last piece of bread to wipe up the flavor of egg from his plate, then laid the empty plate on the counter.  Yesterday's stress was completely forgotten.  In the light of a new day, another trip to Dagon Fel did not seem so daunting and Ra'kesh was ready to tackle their problems head-on.

 

“Off to the Mages Guild!” he announced.  “Who will come? Does Loriand wish to?”

 

“I will, because I need to go to the bank,” Kala said.   _Note to self: do not let Papa and Ra'kesh get into a discussion about politics, if they should ever meet._

 

“I will wait,” Loriand said.  “I will do the dishes, please?” He did not seem bothered by Ra'kesh's point.  Probably politics did not have much meaning for him, or he did not completely understand that it was an opposite argument to Veridael's, Kala thought.

 

“Well, that's good of you.  Thank you for that offer.” She patted Loriand on the arm as she went to put her plate in the sink.  The elf looked relieved, for some reason.  Perhaps he did not like to be stared at.  It would probably be worse in a smaller town like Caldera.

 

She and Ra'kesh split up at the top of the hill, she to head to the bank, he to take her remaining 1500 drakes to the Guild to have the sword enchanted.  She would be in High Town for perhaps fifteen minutes, filling out the withdrawal paperwork.  They gave her a complimentary velvet bag to hold the drakes.

 

Ra'kesh decided to visit the Fighter's Guild first, just to get that out of the way.  He explained the story of Ernard Perrick to Eydis Fire-Eye, who looked rather skeptical when he mentioned that he declined payment.  He left out the part about Ernard remaining a bandit and made it sound like the young man returned home permanently.

 

“You're going to meet lots of people with sad stories in this line of work,” she said.  “You can't work for free all of the time.  I suppose you'd like another job straight away?”

 

“Thank you, but no.  Ra'kesh has personal business and will be away for an unknown period of time, but he will take jobs when he returns.” She raised a brow at that, but did not ask.  They bid each other good day and Ra'kesh headed next door.

 

He was exceptionally polite and honest when Ranis asked what he was doing, although he'd rather chew glass than show respect to a racist Dunmer.  But maybe it wasn't too late to restore Kala's standing with the woman, he reasoned.  For enchanting she directed him to Galbedir, whom he would recognize as the Bosmer in a high-collared robe.

 

She was upstairs at her desk, which was very neatly organized with glittering crystalline gems lined up in a row and a stack of parchment ready to become enchanted scrolls.  Ra'kesh introduced himself and explained his need.  He remembered the painful bite of Esmera's sword and decided fire would be a powerful effect.  Galbedir agreed, explaining that fire was very effective against many creatures and even the undead, which he was happy to hear.

 

“What soul will you be using and how strong of an enchantment are you looking for?” Galbedir asked.

 

“As much as this will buy,” he said, holding out the bag of gold.  “Fifteen hundred, and Khajiit must buy a soul gem also.” Ra'kesh hoped that having been seen with Kala would be enough that he wouldn't be cheated, as he knew very little of the price of enchantments.  The Bosmer accepted the heavy bag and placed it on the set of scales at her desk.  After adding the appropriate weights she seemed satisfied.

 

“All right then.  The sword, please.  You can watch if you want.”

 

He did watch, over her shoulder as the Bosmer sat down and laid the shortsword on the desk, placing a milky blue gem beside it.  She waved her hand over the soul gem, which began to pulse with a white light.  Slowly the light rose from the gem.  Galbedir drew the energy into the sword with a pulling motion, connecting the two by a glowing thread of magicka.  Ra'kesh felt that same prickly sensation as he had before.  He watched with rapt amazement as the soul drained from the little crystal, leaving it a dull gray.  Galbedir handed him the shortsword when she was finished.  It had not taken long at all.

 

Now the blade shone with a thin veneer of magicka, easy to miss unless one looked closely.  He held it to the light; the slightest red tint could be seen when he turned it just so.  Ra'kesh fancied he could feel the power emanating from the sword, when in reality it was not a very strong enchantment.  He slid it back into its sheath and thanked her.

 

“No trouble at all,” Galbedir replied with a short bow, then smiled slyly.  “Give my regards to Kala, will you?”

 

“Of course,” Ra'kesh said, nodding back at her, feeling a little self-conscious.  He wondered if he and Kala were a topic of gossip around the guild lately.  He returned outside, nodding politely to Ranis on the way out, and met up with Kala on the street.  She had finished up at the bank and headed back to the guilds to get him.

 

“All chores finished,” he told her.  “Are we going to Arcing-hand today?”

 

Kala rubbed her flat nose, eyeing the sword.  It did not radiate such an aura of magicka as to be massively reassuring.  At least it should be able to harm ghosts now.

 

“We probably should,” she said.  “It's not as though anything's likely to happen to Loriand there in the house.  Who did the enchantment, Galbedir?”

 

As she spoke she turned toward the Southern gate out of the Commercial district.  The Silt Strider loomed up on their left as they passed beneath the gate, under the watchful eye of the Hlaalu guards in their bonemold armor.  It shone dully in the sun.  There was always a fair amount of traffic through this, the gateway to the road that led to the Bitter Coast, The Westernmost portion of Molag Amur, and eventually Pelagiad.

 

“Yes, and she says hello.”

 

\---

 

Loriand did all of the dishes, then looked under the sink.  Then he looked under the bathroom sink.  Then he looked in all of the closets that were not in Kala's bedroom.  Eventually he found a broom.  He set about sweeping the floors with it.  It was something to do.  The house was strangely quiet, thin shafts of sunlight pouring through the windows, and he did not want to find himself sitting and thinking.  Dust whirled gently in the light.

 

\---

  


Ra'kesh found that the long hike did not bother him very much.  He'd been running here and there ever since meeting Kala with few rests in between and his legs were becoming accustomed to the work.

 

Mostly it was an enjoyable walk, although Ra'kesh's mind turned to a few concerns he did not voice.  They meant to willingly bring new life into the world, a life that would be like Loriand- confused, lost, and forever at the mercy of anyone who figured out they could not disobey orders.  Possibly what they were going to do was not ethical, and it would place another burden on Kala until they could figure out what to do with these clones.  But it was the only path to take as far as Ra'kesh could see, so there was no reason to stress Kala out with talk of it.

 

He spied Fort Moonmoth in the distance, but they took a fork in the path that led them Northeast of it and over a massive metal bridge crossing the foyada.  Like everything Dwemer, the bridge was preserved remarkably well and Ra'kesh felt much safer crossing on it than he would have on a rickety Dunmer-made plank and rope bridge.

 

The ruin was nothing more than a few towers protruding from the ground, but he knew the bulk of it would be subterranean, like all Dwemer cities.  They found a domed entrance with a revolving door, which Kala quickly figured out was opened with a hand crank nearby.  It turned hard and squeaked horribly, but it worked.

 

The chamber they entered was huge and full of stale air.  The walkway leading from the main entrance had been victim to a cave-in.  Great slabs of metal plating that had once been the floor jutted up from a cascade of rubble that lead to a lower floor.  A sickly yellow-green glow far below indicated that the lights were working on the lower levels.  The familiar rumbles and rattlings could be heard from the bowels of the ruin, but another sound, like voices whispering, made Ra'kesh's fur stand on end.  He irrationally felt as though they were being watched.

 

Kala drew a hand across her face, casting Night Eye as they paused on the upper landing.  A peculiar feeling trembled up her spine, something she had only ever felt in this place, though she had heard other mages try to describe it after returning from daedric ruins.  It was like a mild electric shock, faint and uncomfortable.

 

“The ambient power is higher here,” Kala whispered.  “You only get that in places that are haunted, or occupied by daedra, or both.” Beside her, the Khajiit looked larger than himself as his fur stood up; he must be sensitive enough to be aware of it on some level, or perhaps he had senses she did not.  His eyes reflected the yellow light from below even through the blue tint of the spell over her eyes.

 

There was another sound below, not audible to Kala's ears, but probably able to be heard by the Khajiit if he listened carefully: the scuff of soft leather boots on the dirty metal floor.  Someone was walking to and fro down below.

 

“It sounds like someone is down there,” Ra'kesh whispered back, ears trained towards the lower level.  He wondered if ghosts made a sound.

 

Ra'kesh walked forward slowly, testing each step before putting down his full weight.  The path was rocky and full of loose stones, but there were enough boulders and chunks of ceiling and floor to make the walkway sturdy.  As they descended he saw the source of the lights more clearly: A balcony half-concealed with rocks from the cave in, and an open room with rusted out furniture below that on their left.  A large cavern lay between them and that area.

 

Ra'kesh paused and listened for movement below.

 

A very corporeal grumbling could be heard, in a deep voice probably belonging to a human male of some description.  It went in and out as the possessor paced back and forth.

 

“Guard the main chamber, Rufus.  Scare off (inaudible) mage apprentices that wander in, Rufus.  Somebody's got to (inaudible) busy looking for valuable shit back  _ here.   _ Oh yeah, nothing wrong with  _ this  _ (inaudible growling).  Should've stuck to farming muck.  (inaudible) out in the fresh air...”

 

Behind Ra’kesh, Kala edged forward much more slowly, doing her best to be quiet.  She was aware both that the Khajiit's ears were more sensitive than hers and that he was much better at walking softly.

 

Ra'kesh looked back at Kala and, from her face, guessed that she hadn't heard the voice.  Nor had the man been able to hear their footsteps.

 

“There is one guard below and other artifact smugglers elsewhere,” Ra'kesh hissed between his teeth.  He looked over the ledge of the walkway but couldn't see anyone, so he pulled away from the edge and thought about what to do.  The chamber was large and it was unlikely his buddies were within earshot, so it probably didn't matter if Kala zapped him, but did they really want to kill a stranger of unknown intentions?

 

“We can try to surprise him, catch him off guard and tell him to get lost.  It is two to one,” Ra'kesh said, drawing his sword.

 

Kala nodded, curling and uncurling one hand.  It did not sound an urgent enough case to use her one remaining white dot.  At least not if Ra'kesh thought he had a chance of taking the guard by surprise without it.  She was relieved that he had not immediately demanded they kill him.

 

Below, Ra'kesh could hear the man passing directly beneath him.  “Need a drink, dammit.”

 

Ra'kesh resumed his descent, moving quickly and silently until he reached the bottom of the makeshift ramp.  He saw that there was a hole in the cavern wall to his right.  It looked like robbers had mined through to get to the rest of the ruin after the cave in, but that way was dark and silent.  Ra'kesh turned his attention back to the guard, who he could see clearly now, pacing in the cavern below the entrance far above.

 

“Be silent,” Ra'kesh growled, stepping from the shadows into the soft light of the distant lanterns with his blade pointed toward the man.  “You are surrounded, and not by mage apprentices, Khajiit assures you.” He jerked his head back towards Kala.

 

Kala obligingly clenched both fists, letting out a tiny fraction of the power she felt revolving under the skin.  Lightning crackled between her hands, briefly lighting up a grim and deeply shadowed face.

 

Ra'kesh was face-to-face with a Redguard wearing cloth garb and a chitin cuirass, a steel shortsword belted to one leg.  He pulled up short as the Khajiit appeared seemingly from nowhere, pointing a blade at him that glinted faintly with enchantment.  His hair was mostly shaved, forming a tight black helmet on his dark-skinned head.

 

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” he said, holding his hands away from his sides.  “That just takes the sweetroll, that does.  What do you want?”

 

“We want you to leave,” Kala growled.  “Quietly.”

 

The man threw up his hands.  “Fine.  You can have them.  There's probably four left, after the ghosts got Lerala.” He turned to stomp his way up the ramp toward the exit.  Kala backed to one side to let him pass without getting within his reach, but he made no move to attack them, still grumbling to himself about his muck farm.

 

Ra'kesh watched the man storm up the walkway and grinned when he was well past Kala.

 

“That was easy,” Ra'kesh said, sliding the sword back in its scabbard.  He kept an ear open for the clank of the door to be sure the Redguard had really gone.  “We may even get some ectoplasm without having to work for it.” And perhaps poor Lerala would have something nice in her pockets.

 

A circular metal door had been left ajar on the bottom floor of the lit rooms.  It was either that or go through the dark hole on the other side.

 

“If Ra'kesh were a ghost, he would stay in the warm, cozy glow of home,” he said, waiting for Kala to travel the last feet of the walkway.

 

“No knowing what motivates a Dwemer ghost, but I agree,” Kala said, moving up beside him to look around.  She downed a purple dot potion from her belt, uncapping and capping it one-handed.  It was not helpful in the huge room they were in, but it would at least show her auras of the living or undead when they were a couple of rooms away if this place was built akin to other Dwemer ruins.  She moved toward the open door, doing her best to walk softly.

 

There was an echoing cry from below.  It sounded merish, and in pain.

 

After a quick glance at Kala, Ra'kesh hastened his pace.  A hall lay beyond the door with other branching hallways in many directions, but Ra'kesh was more interested in a staircase leading down, the direction the scream had come from.  As they drew closer sounds of battle could be heard; grunts of exertion, the fwssh of magickal energy release.

 

The stairway ended in a room with a square cut out of the floor, and through it they could see a Dunmer dressed similarly to the guard, in that she was poor and not well armored.  Netch leather and iron bracers protected her torso, with no protection on her lower body aside from worn leather boots.  Her long black hair was pulled up in a high tail, revealing deep red slashes across the right side of her lower face and neck.  Blood poured down her throat.

 

Ra'kesh nearly didn't notice it at first, but there was a second figure in the room below.  A tall, translucent humanoid shape advanced toward the Dunmer, who held her steel axe defensively and stepped back as the ghostly figure approached.  It reached forward, a bloom of red light exploding from one hand.  The elf held up her axe in front of her face to guard, but it did no good.  She staggered back when the attack hit, hands lowering as if her axe had become too heavy to bear.  She struggled to stay standing as the ghost continued to advance.

 

“Bhashtha Kha-AN!” Kala growled the guttural words in Dwemer as she stepped forward beside Ra'kesh.  Connotations were lost easily over so much time, but most scholars agreed that it was a demand to halt with the connotation of a difference in rank or status.  The spectre's head whipped around toward them, hollow sockets compressing as it scowled; a curly beard hung from its chin, half-hanging and seemingly half drifting on the air.  The Dunmer sank to one knee, swearing in a weakening voice as she struggled to lift the axe.

 

Poison would have no effect on a ghost, but shock – at last! Kala balled her hand into a fist and thrust it out with the index and smallest fingers extended.  Bolts of lightning darted from her to the spirit at almost the same time that it hurled a bolt of searing frost at her and Ra'kesh.

 

Ra'kesh threw himself to the ground just in time for a frigid wind to rustle his mane as the frost bolt lanced over his head, striking the ceiling with a sharp crackle.  He didn't get to see the ghost seize as it was struck by Kala's lightning, throwing up its hands in agony as electric arcs flashed over its body, but he did hear the howl of anguish.  The spirit dissolved into mist, the wail fading away to nothing.  A blackened smudge with greenish, glowing goop spattered on top was the only thing left where the ghost had stood.  The glow slowly faded until it was barely visible.

 

The Dunmer whipped her head around to the hole in the ceiling, then quickly backed away so she was out of their line of sight in the corner of the room.

 

“What do you want?” she snarled, weakly.

 

Kala stiffened, but was much too slow to do anything about the frost bolt.  Fortunately Ra'kesh's reflexes were much faster than hers.  She huffed out a breath, green returning to her cheeks as she realized it had completely missed him.

 

“Ectoplasm,” Kala said.  She tugged a vial from her belt and went to kneel on one knee by the mess, one eye warily on the corner as she scraped the goop into the small wide-mouthed bottle.  It had a peculiar smell, not necessarily bad but certainly not like any living thing; it was sharp and peculiarly chemical, like the bottom of her alchemical refuse bottle.  “You don't interest us.  If you're willing to behave reasonably I'll heal you before we leave.  If not you can bleed to death in the corner, it's all the same to me.”

 

She hoped the woman agreed.  She did not want to go away with the image of someone dying slowly and alone in the orange-lit dim.

 

The Dunmer lowered her weapon and put a hand to the wound on her neck, cringing at the pain.

 

“I won't hurt you..  You saved my life just now.  But how did you get past Rufus? Did you kill him?” Anger and fear edged into her voice.

 

“Rufus is fine, but he is not a very good watch-keeper,” Ra'kesh said, dusting off his clothes.  He walked over to Kala and watched her collecting the ectoplasm with interest, but made sure the Dunmer was within his field of vision.  She made no move for them and was looking paler by the second.  Her armor was slick with fresh blood.

 

Kala rose, pushing the vial into her belt, and walked slowly over to kneel in front of the Dunmer, testing.  The woman did not immediately attack, at least.  The floor was cold under her knee, vibrating slightly with the working of distant mechanisms.

 

“He was muttering something about a muck farm when he left,” she said.  “I'm not keen to kill people if I don't have to.” She wasn't sure exactly where Ra'kesh fell on that spectrum.  A lot went on in the Khajiit's head of which she was unaware, and some of it was dark and frightening compared to what she knew.  She loved him; but she did not pretend that his past had changed when that had come to be the case.

 

“Hold still.” She extended a hand, spreading her fingers in the minimal gesture that was her only mnemonic for the healing spell, and touched the woman's throat.  Blue light glowed from her fingertips, spread out and sank in.  The flesh healed under it, blood drying up.  The Dunmer remained a bit pale; it would take a more powerful spell or a repeated application to completely deal with that much loss of blood.

 

“Thank you,” the Dunmer said quietly, lowering her hand.  “We had a healer, but...” She looked away, the muscles of her face tightening in anger.  She had come all this way for nothing; with her companions dead and Rufus run off, she could go no farther in the ruin.  Her strength was not returning even after the healing touch.  She suspected she would have to spend her last gold at the Temple to cleanse whatever the ghost had cursed her with.

 

Ra'kesh watched the woman's hands but she made no move to attack Kala.

 

“Is Dunmer alone?” he asked.  She gave him a hard look, as if wondering whether to grace him with an answer or not.  After a few moments’ hesitation, she did.

 

“One of the others made a break for it, but I doubt he's still alive.  He was a fool to split up down here.  I'm not going to waste my time looking for him.”

 

“Your strength is damaged,” Kala said gently, watching the mer not even try to get up.  “I do not have that spell, but I have the ingredients for a potion.  If you come back to Balmora with us I can probably fix it.  Are you from there?”

 

The Dunmer looked at Kala in confusion.  She was not thinking clearly from the blood loss and wondered if this was some sort of trick.  Ra'kesh sighed in exasperation, but he was smiling.  He could see the woman's hesitation.

 

“Just recall back with us.  Dunmer does not want to spend all day dragging herself out of this place.”

 

“All right...  Yes.  I am from there.  That would help me out a lot.” She finally slid the axe into a holster on her belt, convinced that these people weren't going to harm her, and stood uneasily.  Ra'kesh stepped over to them and laid a hand on Kala's shoulder.

 

Kala didn't even flinch this time.  She was proud of that.

 

“Okay, I'm going to take your arm so we can Recall out.  Hang on.” She put a hand under the Dunmer's elbow, partly for support, and then gestured with her other hand.  The ruin of Arkngthand dissolved around them and became the living room in Balmora.

 

“Here, sit down,” Kala urged, pushing the chair from the alchemy bench over to her, and making sure she didn't miss it and fall to the floor.  Loriand appeared at the top of the stairs, broom in hand, face solemn.  

 

The Dunmer swayed on her feet as the surroundings changed.  She let the Orc usher her into a chair and felt much better already to be out of the cold damp of the ruin and sitting down.  She started at the unexpected figure at the top of the stairs.

 

“That is Loriand, a friend.  This one is Ra'kesh, and the Orc who saved your life is Kala,” Ra'kesh explained.  Then to Loriand he said, “We have the ectoplasm.” He went to pour a glass of water for the woman.

 

“Volene,” The Dunmer said.  “Pleased to meet all of you..” Her eyes lingered on the supernaturally attractive Altmer before switching to Kala to watch her work.  

 

“It'll only take a moment, most of the ingredients are already powdered for solution.” She hurried to get down the jars for gold kanet, stoneflower, wickwheat and saltrice, a quick-and-dirty potion that would combine healing and strength restoration.  Usually she did not make combinations because they were for such specific situations that it was usually a waste of one effect or the other, but in the present case it would be the easiest way.  In a couple of minutes she was siphoning the results into a vial.

 

“Swallow this.  Fix you right up.”

 

She eagerly drank the water Ra'kesh brought, and then the vial Kala handed her.  The potion had an earthy, not unpleasant taste.  Strength flowed through her limbs almost immediately after swallowing and any trace of pain from her face and neck were gone.  She pushed herself up from the table without any sign of weakness.

 

“Really, I can't thank you enough,” Volene said sincerely.  “I really don't have any way to repay you.”

 

\---

 

Three auras faded into existence inside the house, snapping the black Khajiit's attention across the street.  She groaned under her breath.  She had been waiting all day for Ra'kesh and the Orc to return, but these people apparently never used the front door! And there was yet another person in tow.

 

_ If the house fills up any further, someone is going to be sleeping on the roof, _ she thought sullenly, roughly dropping her back against the wall on which she'd been leaning and crossing her arms over her chest.

 

\---

 

“That was very quick,” Loriand said, and moved to put the broom away in the upstairs cupboard.  Then he came down to the kitchen area, nodding politely to the Dunmer as he passed.  He scanned her briefly, but she seemed neither threatening nor injured, so he went on to wash his hands.

 

“Well, you can try and find a better job, Volene,” Kala said.  “The Fighters are usually hiring, and they pay lousy, but at least it's less risky at first.” She put her hands on her hips as she looked the Dunmer over critically.  “You'll do, I think.  We'll be gone for a couple of days sometime this week, but after that you can always come back if you need to.” She resisted the urge to invite the woman to stay.  They had no more beds.

 

The Dunmer couldn't have looked more shocked if Kala had slapped her across the face.  She stared stupidly for a few moments before she found her voice.

 

“I-  Well, thank you.  But I'm sure I'll be fine.  I appreciate all the help, but I really have to be going.  I have to hunt down Rufus and let him know how much I appreciate his unfaltering loyalty.”

 

“To be fair, we did threaten him,” Ra'kesh said.  “So go easy.”

 

“Sure I will,” Volene said dryly, moving towards the door.  Ra'kesh opened it for her.  Volene looked around the street, getting her bearings, and apparently recognized where she was.  She waved to all of them as she left.  Ra'kesh leaned against the door after closing it behind her and looked at Kala with his head cocked to the side.

 

“Next time we meet a confirmed robber, Kala should probably not mention the next time she is going out of town,” he said lightly.

 

Kala stared at Ra'kesh blankly, then turned dark as the import of what he said sunk in.  “Oh.  Yes, that was stupid of me, wasn't it.  I hope nobody dies when they hit Celirius's traps.”

 

She hadn't been that careless over the first days she had Ra'kesh in her house, she thought.  There was so much happening so fast that she felt she wasn't keeping up.

 

Loriand listened to the two of them, standing in the kitchen with his hands resting on the cutting table.  The fact that they had brought him here instead of leaving him in Caldera to quietly die of dehydration over Veridael's grave now made somewhat more sense.  At least he would not attempt to rob the house.

 

“When will we go to Drakan-Ka?” he asked.

 

Kala rubbed the bridge of her nose.  “I suppose we may as well start out tomorrow.  It'll be three days' journey by boat and on foot, assuming nobody waylays us in Dagon Fel.” She looked over the two imposing men, lips twisted in amusement.  “Probably nobody will.  The two of you look like you could hold off an army.”

 

“Do we have enough provisions?” Ra'kesh asked.  “When we did the shopping yesterday, it was not with the intent of feeding three..  nor one of his size.” He nodded pointedly towards the Altmer.

 

“Mmn, no, good point.  I don't want to take two days to cook an entire nix roast for pemmican so we'll need to buy some.  We can afford that, but I should probably go tonight, before the markets close.  Pemmican, water, dried fruit, hardtack.  Anything else you can think of? I shan't be long.” She went to get a basket from under the counter.

 

Loriand shook his head.

 

“Ra'kesh could go also,” he said eagerly.  Although he felt bad admitting this to himself, Ra'kesh was uncomfortable being left alone with Loriand.  He didn't know what to say to the man.  The mer never spoke unless spoken to, and had little to say even then.  His unnatural physique and odd mannerisms were eerie, even if he was harmless.

 

“Of course, if you like.  Do you want to go, Loriand?”

 

The Altmer looked at Ra'kesh, then back at Kala.  “No, thank you,” he enunciated carefully.  “I would like to wait here.”

 

“All right.  Help yourself to food if you get hungry before we get back.  We don't want things to go bad while we're gone.” She took up the basket and hurried out into the warm light of the late afternoon, pausing to wait for Ra'kesh to close the door behind them.  She would be about an hour doing the travel shopping, greeting an occasional acquaintance but not doing much haggling.  She didn't really know the going rate.  She'd never used the provisioner's before.

 

They had almost reached the end of Kala's street when a beggar in a dirty black cloak with ragged ends grabbed Kala's wrist from behind.  Ra'kesh had been walking on Kala's right, and the beggar came from the left.

 

“Spare a coin for the infirm?” the Khajiit said in a thick, rolling accent as a flash of green from her palm spread to Kala's arm.  Kala was overcome with the deep fatigue she had inflicted on Saw-Them-Fall not so long ago.  The black Khajiit caught the Orc with one arm as she slumped, legs bowing under the sudden weight, while quickly signing the gesture for recall with her free hand.  Kala's basket bounced quietly against the ground.

 

Ra'kesh turned at the voice and saw Kala fall against the stranger.  He grabbed at Kala's sleeve to pull her up just as the light flashed and the sunny street faded into a dimly lit room.  Before he could begin to understand what had happened, something hard slammed into the back of his head.  He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

 

The back of his skull throbbed painfully.  Ra'kesh was vaguely aware of his body and the muffled sounds of footsteps.  Slowly the sounds drew clearer and he felt the sting of rope cutting into his wrists, which were pulled behind his back.  He opened his eyes to the blurry sight of his own thighs.  He was sitting down, chin resting on his chest.  His vision cleared as his hearing did and Ra'kesh lifted his heavy head to look around.

He was in a mostly empty room, Hlaalu style from the tan plaster walls and the rounded, reinforced wooden door.  The air inside was musty.  The building had been empty for a long time and allowed to fill with mold and mildew.  Two upright barrels were directly in front of him, a single blue paper lantern on one of them.  It was the only source of light in the windowless room.  His belt and sword were gone and nowhere in the room that he could see.

Looking to his right, Ra'kesh's heart froze: Kala was beside him, sitting in another chair.  She was limp, leaning forward with her arms pulled taut against the back of the chair where her hands were tied.  Her ankles were tied to the legs and she wore a heavy iron slave's bracer on her left wrist.

Ra'kesh jerked against his bonds and discovered that he was tied in the same fashion as Kala, the familiar weight of a bracer on his right.  Although Ra'kesh did not notice, a magic user would be painfully aware of the magicka draining effect of the bracers that depleted one's reserves.

His ears turned back to a rustle of cloth behind him and the black Khajiit from the street stepped into view.  She was no longer wearing the cloak.

Short, rounded ears combined with a broad muzzle and pronounced cheekbones gave Fahrazadi an impression of exoticism.  Her fur was short and glossy black, except for a streak of white on her throat that disappeared behind the collar of her undyed linen tunic.  This, and the matching knee-length skirt were both caked in dirt.  It looked as if she had rolled in mud a long time ago and allowed it to dry without washing it.  The skirt had probably been longer at one time, but the ends were in tatters.

She pulled the bottom hem of her top away from her body with two fingers on each hand and looked down at herself disdainfully.

“Fah! Khajiit will be all too happy to be out of these beggar's clothes,” she said, then looked back at Ra'kesh's face with a sly grin.  His expression was a delightful concoction of confusion and terror.  “Do not worry, brother Ra'kesh.  The Orc is conscious and fatigue should be passing soon.  It was only a temporary stamina drain.”

Kala  _ had  _ lost consciousness for a few seconds, but not because of the fatigue drain.  She had awakened to the same set of sensations that had stolen her from herself and now hung in her bonds struggling between panic and despair.

There were many people in Vvardenfell who could use a little magic, like Saw-Them-Fall's daedric daggers or the Dunmers' summoning of an ancestor.  The life of a mage was different.  With every greater spell her senses had expanded, going all the way back to the beginning: lightning in her bones, venom under her skin, the coil of the red ribbon in her palm, blue warmth in her fingertips.

And now the world was dead.  Worse, was dying every moment.  She could feel every tiny dram of magicka that osmosed into her body from the world around her being sucked away into the heavy bracer and spat back out away from her.  It was a thousand times worse than simply being exhausted in her ability to channel power.  She needed what was gone with a desperation that was physical.  She ached for it, and as the fatigue drain began to wear off, she began to shake.

Someone had spoken.  She thought back over the words as she struggled to slowly raise her head.  It was all she could muster at the moment, color draining from her face as one shoulder twitched against her bonds.

She turned her head to look at Ra'kesh - he was bound and bracered as she was, but he was upright, ears nearly flat to his head.  Her heart flopped in her chest for a second before the dragging weight of everything hauled her back down.

She turned to look at the black Khajiit next.

Her lips shaped words, but no sound came out on the first try.  On the second attempt her voice came out surprisingly clearly, she thought.

"What's this about?"

As she began to get on top of it – it was hard, so hard, she hurt in every gram of flesh - she was mortified that they had been caught so easily.  It did not help that she was certain that specific ploy would have worked on her under almost any circumstances – and Ra'kesh had been caught as he tried to help her.

The Khajiit chuckled.

“You search your mind for enemies you may have and come up blank? This one finds that hard to believe.” She walked around them in a wide circle as she spoke, keeping her eyes on her bound victims.  Her gait was casual and springy, a long black tail slowly sliding back and forth.  Fahrazadi stopped in front of the door and pulled it open just a crack.

“The prey are awake,” she said into the next room.  The door opened just enough for a person to slide through, preventing Ra'kesh from seeing what lay beyond the door, although he guessed they were in an abandoned house.  He was not at all shocked at the Dreugh-clad figure that stepped inside but still his veins filled with ice at the sight of her.  Esmera wore a black eyepatch over her right eye.  The corner of her lip curved up in a cruel smile.

She shut the door behind her and Fahrazadi leaned over to touch it, a flash of purple radiating from her palm over the door.

“Hello, Ra'kesh.  And I never got your name,” she said conversationally, regarding the Orc.

“Kala gra-Nend,” Kala said.  Keeping her voice level got a little easier every minute.  She wondered if this was what Ra'kesh had felt like the day she had brought him home.   _ Gods. _  At least she now knew what was happening, and the agony of the magicka drain blunted the feeling of dread.  She had never met the woman or seen her in person, but she knew who the Redguard with one eye was.

“You must be Esmera.”

“That's right.  Seems our Khajiit friend has filled you in.  You have a third friend whose name escapes me - an Argonian from the Morag Tong.  I'll find her eventually I'm sure, but it would certainly help speed things up if you would let me know her name and home guildhall.” Esmera leaned against one of the barrels set in front of them.  The black Khajiit stood watch behind her, eyes slowly moving back and forth between the prisoners just in case they tried something.

Ra'kesh clenched his teeth, glaring his hatred at Esmera.  She didn't kidnap them just for a name, and they'd originally been after Kala.  She was after revenge.

“If Ra'kesh tells, will you release Kala and kill him instead? She had nothing to do with any of this.  She did not know Ra'kesh's past, and he has told her nothing more than your name and Waduuya's.” He could not bear to look over at Kala.

Esmera tilted her head with a thoughtful expression, as if considering the offer.

Kala laughed even as she shook in her bonds.  It was not a happy sound, but it was unfeigned.

“Don't try to bargain with her.  If she just wanted you dead they would've only taken you.  You're here to be hurt.” Esmera wanted to hurt Ra'kesh before she killed him, or hurt him and leave him alive, as she had been left alive; Kala did not need to know the woman intimately to follow that.  Either way, Kala was here because it was another way to torment Ra'kesh.

Even if she meant to leave Ra'kesh alive, she would certainly kill Kala.  There was no question of that.  It was merely a question of what she intended to happen between now and then.

As she grew more accustomed to the torture of the bracer she began to realize that there was a dram of magicka in her system, just for a moment every few seconds.  It flowed in and was sucked out again, but the enchantment was intended for someone whose mana pool was smaller overall.

_ One heal.  One health drain.  One Night Eye.  One weak unlocking… _

_ One weak unlocking. _

Kala did not let the surge of hope show on her face, maintaining the expression of despairing exhaustion.  She would have to time it just right, and there was a high chance of the spell failing; and then what? She would still have her hands tied behind her back.  Lightning or poison would not help.  She could set the chair and ropes on fire, and probably survive the burns, but that would not free her before the other two could act.  She lacked an ice spell powerful enough to make her bonds brittle.

She had known an Argonian, once, another apprentice, whose spell gestures had all been above the neck.  He had looked very silly with all his teeth-clicking and winking and crest-flipping, but now she saw the wisdom of his methods.  If she ever saw Blinks-One-Eye again she would have to tell him.

Ra'kesh growled low in his throat.  He wanted to scream at Kala to be silent, but what she said was true.  If he begged for Kala to be spared Esmera would probably kill her slowly just to spite him.  But what else could he do? Sit here and accept her death without resistance of any sort?

“You're quite perceptive.  What's a smart girl like you doing with a stupid thug like him?” Esmera continued without waiting for an answer.  “I am not an unreasonable woman.  I'm only taking what is owed to me.” She leaned in close to Ra'kesh and flipped over the black patch, revealing the empty socket beneath.  Her brows drew together in a scowl and the amused smile fell away.  Ra'kesh looked at the eyeless socket unflinchingly.

“I know you're the one who lead that Argonian to our door.  I'm going to take what you took from me: an eye, and a lover.” Her voice was dark and calm.  Ra'kesh's eyes squeezed shut as the air left his body, as if he'd been punched hard in the gut.  He jerked against the ropes to no avail and opened his eyes again, his own pathetic visage reflected back at him in Esmera's single brown eye.  He had never felt so powerless in his entire life.

“She did not know.  She is innocent.  She does not even know the name of the Argonian,” Ra'kesh pleaded.  He tried to keep his voice level but it wavered with desperation.  His nose burned; a hot tear slipped from his eye and dropped down his furred muzzle.  He blinked against it but was too terrified to even care how undignified he looked.

Kala watched without expression as Esmera began her torments.  Her father had been captured by Ashlanders, once, when he was a Legionnaire.  He had told her about it when she was nineteen.  She couldn't remember the context.  Probably she had complained that some mage chore was torture.

_ You might think that torture is about hot needles under the fingernails, half-drowning in dirty water, pulling out your teeth with pliers.  It's not.  Those aren't effective methods.  Torture is in the mind.  It's being left to sit with a bag over your head for two hours and not knowing what's about to happen next.  It's being told they're hurting one of your mates in the next room and not being able to do anything about it.  There are so many kinds of pain, girl.  Hope you never learn the worst ones. _

The sound of Ra'kesh's voice breaking as he begged for her life was worse than a knife in her gut.  It was worse than the bracer, and she had thought nothing could be worse than that.  The jolt of sick horror brought a sudden clarity, like a draft of cold water on the back of her neck.

There was a way to get out of the ropes.  It would hurt, would physically tear parts of her that had never felt pain before, but the pain that she faced otherwise would be worse.  So much worse.

Ra'kesh's muzzle was dampened by a single tear.  Kala tensed in every muscle as she watched, stifling a growl.  Her nostrils flared.   _ Not yet.  Not yet! Bracer first. _

She had to push all of it away.  She had to concentrate on the rhythm of the bracer's enchantment, magicka in, magicka out.  The timing had to be perfect.  Magicka in.  Magicka out.

_ Magicka in.  Magicka out. _

Esmera stood up straight in front of Ra'kesh, her expression unchanging.  She flipped the patch back over her eye.

“Fahrazadi, hold him still.”

The Khajiit pushed away from the wall and sauntered over to stand behind Ra'kesh.  She shot him a mockingly sympathetic look before disappearing behind him, but he didn't notice.  He glared silently at Esmera, trembling in rage and terror.

A furred hand touch his cheek from behind.  Before he could shy away from the touch, a low buzz in his ear and a flash of pale green from the corner of his eye alerted him to the release of magicka.  A cold tingle spread from his face to the rest of his body.  His trembling ceased, and Ra'kesh realized with horror that he could not twitch a muscle.  His eyes were locked open, staring straight ahead at Esmera.  A scream caught in his throat and came out as nothing more than a barely audible squeak.  Tears flowed freely as he understood what was to come.

Esmera pulled a dagger from her belt.  It was clean steel, newly purchased for just this occasion.

“I'll take one eye, Orc.  Would you prefer it to be his or yours? No tricks.” She twirled the blade in her fingers.  It came to rest clenched in her fist with her thumb against the pommel.

Kala breathed carefully.  This must not be allowed to break her concentration.

_ His eye or both our lives.  You know what is the right answer. _

_ Magicka in.  Magicka out. _

“His,” she said.  Her tone was measured, and she did not allow herself to look at them.  She nearly had it, the shaking settled down to a rhythmic twitch in one eyelid.  “You're going to kill me anyway.  When I enter into the Ash I shall face my grandfather with both my eyes.” It was funny how these things came to you.  She had never been very religious, but she had been raised in her parents' Imperial Cult faith more than anything.  It was her grandparents who, in their short lives, had risked worshiping Mauloch.

_ Magicka in – NOW.   _ She moved the fingers of her left hand as she pressed them against the bracer, desperately hoping for her hand to muffle the inevitable.

Esmera was taken back for a second.  She hadn't expected that answer.  Fahrazadi's mouth popped open in a mocking “o”.

“True feelings often come forth in these situations,” Fahrazadi said with amusement.  Her hand was still on Ra'kesh's face, ready to renew the spell at the first sign of movement.  It was a weak paralyze with a short duration.

Ra'kesh's mind was racing with fear, unable to grab onto any single thought.  The horror of his helplessness, the horror at losing his eye and losing Kala was too much for him to process.  He could not comprehend what had been said or implied.

Esmera shrugged.  She had been lying; she planned to take Ra'kesh's eye regardless of Kala's answer.  She grinned evilly at Ra'kesh, leaning close with the dagger raised.

“Remember, your lover asked me to do this,” she said, and slammed the dagger into his right eye one instant after the bracer clicked open.

_ Click.   _ Power flowed from fingers to lock in one perfectly timed instant.  The lock gave.  The sound was very quiet.  Fahrazadi and Ra'kesh might conceivably hear it, if either of them were able to think about anything but their present circumstances for one second.  Kala shuddered convulsively as the world filled with color again, with light, with power.

Pain exploded in Ra’kesh’s head.  It was a sharp, searing pain unlike anything he had experienced.  Esmera made certain not to thrust deep enough to kill and released her hand with the dagger still in his socket.  He tried to scream, he tried to thrash.  A whining hum vibrating in his throat was the only sound he could produce as blood poured down his face.  He did not even register the warmth of the hand retreating from his face.

Kala heard the sound.  She would never forget the noise that emerged from his throat in that instant, as she would never forget the scrape of steel against bone as the dagger touched the inside of the eye socket.  Horror and hatred and self-disgust mounted into an uncontrollable, searing rage, and the red tide rose, and Kala rose with it, sound rising from deep in her chest to emerge in a dreadful scream.  Strands of saliva stretched between her lips, nostrils flared huge below her mad wide eyes.

The chair splintered as her legs straightened, and as she stood up she jerked her wrists away from each other.  It did not occur to her that ropes might be stronger than flesh.  It did not occur to her that it might matter.  She felt something snap and grind in her left wrist, a strange feeling of tension and then tearing in her right shoulder, and in that one explosive second the ropes gave and the sisal tore away from her body as though it had been wet grass.  The hands that she lifted were bloody from forearm to wrist, for at that force rope cut like a dull knife.  The wooden legs of the chair were still strapped to each of her calves.  The section of rope joining them had snapped in the middle.

The bracer hit the floor with a clatter.  Kala faced her tormentors from a place where words had died and there was no pain, and against the weight of her torn shoulder she shaped the gesture that would call the lightning, reaching out toward Esmera.

Ra'kesh fell forward against his bonds as the spell faded, a scream finally tearing through his throat.  His vision was a jumble of black and red from the right side and a blurry hilt protruding past his nose from the left.  His splayed ears quivered like leaves in an autumn wind while blood continued to pour down his face, matting the fur with red.  Ra'kesh tried to focus, but one thought alone repeated over and over in his mind on top of the pain.

_ She took the eye she took the eye make this stop gods please the eye oh gods she took the eye _

Ra'kesh jerked feebly in response to the snap and the clatter but could not turn to look.

Esmera did turn at the unexpected movement from the Orc, hand reaching for the sword at her side.  She was too slow.  The lightning burst forth, a direct hit.  Ra'kesh felt the heat of the blast on his face, felt the zap of static on his whiskers.  Fahrazadi threw herself back in reflex even though she was not the spell's target.

Esmera screamed as the lightning engulfed her body, snapping and crackling as flesh heated and burned.  When it was done and the blinding light faded, the Redguard stood upright with steam rising from her head, hand still at her side and mouth open in a silent scream.  She swayed, then collapsed on her back with a heavy thud, followed by a weak groan.  She was alive, barely.

Fahrazadi backed against the wall opposite Kala, one hand held over her head, the other in front of her, both with open palms.

“Khajiit has no quarrel with you; she is hired help only.  Kindly allow her to unlock the door.” Every muscle of Fahrazadi's body tensed, her ears and tail perfectly still and alert.  Those hazel-green eyes did not leave Kala for a second.

Ra'kesh had stopped screaming.  Now his body heaved in short, rapid bursts of breath.  The sickening, smoky stench of burned flesh combined with the tang of his own blood that dripped past his mouth nearly made him gag.  He saw Esmera twitching on the floor but had no reaction.  There were no emotions, only pain and shock.

Kala curled her right hand, snarling gutturally.  Ra’kesh’s scream had hurt her on a level that could be reached even through the red haze.  She jerked her head at the door.  She did not stop forward movement, shaking loose broken chair and unraveling rope from her legs as she walked.

There was a part of her that would have argued for sparing Esmera's life, but that part was presently not in charge; only the weakest protest registered as Kala stamped hard and repeatedly on the Redguard's head.  There was a sound like a splitting melon.

Fahrazadi's fingers twitched.  She was ready to loose a fireball of her own on the lot of them, but Esmera was dead in the next instant.  There would be no reward for her loyalty, and angering this mage of unknown power was simply not worth it.  She slid behind the stomping Orc and touched the door with a flash of purple light.  Fahrazadi opened the door and slithered through in one fluid movement, leaving it ajar behind her.  A bang was heard in the next room as the front door opened and slammed shut behind her.

Ra'kesh watched blood splurt from the orifices of the Redguard's broken face every time Kala's foot slammed down.  He felt completely detached from the gory image.  It was all so far away and didn't seem to concern him at all.

_ Shock from blood loss _ , Ra'kesh thought, distantly.  He needed help.

“She..  She is dead,” he croaked.

A familiar voice.  Kala raised her head, then turned to look at Ra'kesh.  There was a red streak in the white of her left eye where a vessel had burst.  She huffed in response as she moved back toward him.  Power was there, but very little now, and the red tide was starting to ebb.  She fought to maintain the frenzy, feeling the pain and weakness waiting just beyond its edges, but time was running out.

She braced a hand against Ra'kesh's muzzle as gently as her broken, clublike left hand allowed.  Her right hand plucked the dagger in one swift movement, and she tossed it aside with a clatter.  At the same time she spread the fingers of the hand on his muzzle, pouring out all of her remaining power into the blue glow of healing.

The broken hand brushed back his mane, bones grinding in the swollen wrist.  Kala panted, chest heaving as she looked down at him.

Ra'kesh's eye rolled up to follow Kala's movements above him.  He was leaning forward in the chair, panting weakly.  He grunted as the dagger was pulled free but a moment later the sharp pain faded to a dull, tolerable ache.  He cringed as flesh reshaped inside the socket, a creepy-crawly sensation of movement where movement should not be felt.

He knew immediately that something was wrong.  His pupil was a large, ragged and irregular hole that skewed to one side rather than centered on the milky white iris.  He blinked up at her, but there was nothing but gray from the right side.  A rising horror gripped him.  Ra'kesh fought to push it away; they would deal with that in a minute.  Kala was hurt.

“Go heal yourself, he will be fine,” he breathed tiredly, leaning back against the chair to relieve the pressure on his wrists.


	9. Chapter 9

Kala needed a moment to assimilate the words.  Then she huffed again in response - turning her shoulder to the bound Khajiit was one of the hardest things she had ever done - and walked out.  

 

Both of their belts and belongings were in the next room sitting near the door.  The room was mostly empty aside from a dusty counter and cobwebbed shelves - it had been a shop at one time.  Cloth had been pinned over the windows recently, leaving another lantern on the counter the only source of light.  There was a stairwell leading to an upper level.  The room they had been tied in was probably meant for storage, with living quarters above.

 

Her roving eyes found the glitter of the potion belt and she sank to her knees beside it, fumbling out a red dot vial first.  She downed it, and the feeling of things changing and moving in her arms and hands finally cleared the red tide, pain ebbing even as it rose.  Her left hand did not feel right.  The wrist had healed lumpy and stiff, and she could no longer bend it more than an inch in any direction, though the fingers still moved.  She noted it in passing, but could not care.  Ra'kesh was still bound and possibly still suffering.  She downed a guild blue dot as well, grabbed the belt and the other things and carried them back to the other room.

 

Her body ached with desperate fatigue, but at least everything seemed to work except the wrist.  She pushed away the tide of self-loathing, that it might not paralyze her yet.  She laid their things in a heap beside Ra'kesh, glancing at the corpse of Esmera with a slight lift of her lip, and took up the dagger to clumsily cut away his bonds.

 

She cut the ones on his wrists with great care, shoulder against his shoulder, giving him something to lean on as he lost the support of the ropes.

 

"Are you still in pain?" She asked, voice a harsh whisper.

 

“It aches a little, that is all,” he said.  He rubbed at his wrist where the rope had cut into it after he felt the bonds fall away and waited for his legs to be untied.  He still wore the slave's bracer, but it didn't matter.  Nothing mattered.

 

This was all his fault.  He'd been an idiot to assume Esmera wasn't a threat and to let his guard down like that.  Kala had almost died because of his carelessness.  And it would never end.  Who was that Khajiit? Did Esmera tell anyone else his location? Of course she would have.  Kala would never be safe again as long as Ra'kesh stayed in her home.

 

The gentleness with which she tended him now was another knife twisting in his gut.   _ Why? _ he asked himself.   _ How can she care for such a stupid, worthless person who puts her life in danger at every turn? _ His head hung low after the ropes were untied, ears drooping and hands dropped in his lap.

 

“Ra'kesh is so very sorry,” he said in a barely audible whisper.  “If he had lost you..  and it was all his fault -” He stopped when his voice started to crack.

 

It tore at her heart to hear him so.  Kala laid the dagger aside and quickly wiped her bloody hands on her hems.  Then she moved carefully to kneel in front of Ra'kesh, reaching out to cup the iron bracer with one hand.  The other passed over it, fingers glowing purple.  When the mechanism clicked open she gently lifted his hand and tossed the bracer away.  It whirled across the floor with a metallic slide and fetched up against the dead woman's boot.

 

Kala clasped his hand in her left hand as she ran the right over his forearm, gently rubbing the flattened fur.  Her stiff left wrist was uncooperative, but she was already learning to turn her forearm to move her hand.

 

“Ra'kesh, my darling, listen,” she said.  “Listen to me.  This is not your fault.  If you had been alone, they would not have captured you.  That is my fault, not yours.  And it was I who told Esmera to take your eye.  She offered that choice to me.” To her dying day she would remember the sound he had made.

 

Ra'kesh glanced up at her, but didn't raise his head.  He could only imagine how grotesque his eye must appear.  He put his other hand on top of hers and squeezed gently.

 

“Nothing was your fault.  Ra'kesh does not know how you escaped, but he knows if you had been stabbed it would not have happened.  There was no choice to make.  Kala has saved Ra'kesh yet again.” He looked down at their hands.  Doubts and fears swarmed within.  He remembered the Khajiit saying something about true feelings.  Did Kala really love him?

 

_ Stop it.  This torture of the mind is exactly what Esmera was driving at when she asked the question.  If Kala chose herself, the guilt of it would eat at Ra'kesh just as much.   _ He was glad to have taken the injury in her stead.  Ra'kesh could never live with himself if Kala were maimed because of him.  And of course she loved him, only a fool could think otherwise.

 

Ra'kesh patted her hand and moved to stand up, holding her arms for support.  He swayed on his feet after a brief bout of dizziness but decided he was well enough to walk.

 

Kala held him up as best she could as they rose together, fighting the weakness in her own legs.  She stiffened her resolve as she saw him sway.  He needed her now, and needed her to be strong.

 

Kala was there, watching his movements with such deep concern.  He suddenly threw his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug, burying his face against the side of her head.  Ra'kesh wasn't sure why but he had to hold her then, he had to know that she was safe and real.

 

“Everything is okay as long as you are safe.  Nothing else matters,” Ra'kesh choked, and kissed her head.  He remembered that his shirt was soaked in blood and reluctantly pulled away.  He didn't want to smother her in it.

 

Kala squeezed him tightly as he held her, hands pressed hard against his back.  She was aware of the blood, on his shirt, matting the fur on his face, but she didn't care; the room already stank with the particularly unpleasant stench of recent human death.  Her nose was already half-stunned to it.

 

“I am safe,” she said quietly.  She reluctantly let him pull back, but left her hands around his waist as she looked up at him.  “You're still suffering from blood loss.  I am going to give you a potion and I want you to drink it all.  All right?” She took a red-dot vial and held it up between them.

 

“How I escaped...”  She shuddered.  Every painful experience from now on would be measured against the drain of the slave bracer.  “Let us discuss it another time.  Your eye purchased both our lives.  That is what I will remember when I look at it.”

 

Some of that tale was told by the room; the remains of the ropes that had bound her lay soaked in her blood, and the shards of the wooden chair lay scattered between where it had stood and where she stood now.

 

Ra'kesh nodded faintly and drank the entire vial he was handed.  The throbbing behind his eye ceased completely and he felt much of his strength return.  He looked ruefully at the bloody ropes on the floor, ears pressing back in shame for what she had gone through.  He stepped away from Kala and raised a hand to close his eyelid with two fingers and gingerly feel what was there.  He seemed to have a complete eyeball, so why couldn't he see?

 

“We have to go to a healer,” he said.  He still held out hope that something could be done.

 

Kala just nodded, face serious.  She could see what he could not, that the iris was gone, and probably the lens behind it; there was no healer that could fully restore his sight.  She was too much a coward herself to be the one to explain that to him at this moment.  Instead she helped him buckle his sword belt back on, fumbling her potion belt back into place with clumsy fingers.

 

Ra'kesh gave one last glance to the body with its ruined face that lay on the floor.  It barely looked human, split open, drenched in blood and misshapen from being stomped flat.  He felt no pity, only regret.  He should have finished her off himself or died trying when Saw-Them-Fall ran.  He was shamed by his cowardice and would pay for it the rest of his life if this eye could not be fixed.

 

The front door was left unlocked.  The building was situated at the end of a low-traffic street in the Commercial District.  Ra'kesh did not recognize the area but it was a few blocks from the Mages and Fighters guilds.  He winced as his good eye adjusted to the sudden light of the outside world but noted there was no pain from the other, although the dark gray turned a shade lighter.

 

“Telling the guards about the body would only lead to more questions,” he said.  “But...  maybe they would assign a guard to keep watch over Kala's house if he confesses everything...”

 

Kala shuddered.  They had been so close to home the entire time! One street away had been the safety of the Mages Guild and a half-dozen fierce and powerful Magisters prepared to defend a guildmate from harm.  The wrongness of this violation of normalcy twisted Kala's stomach with fresh horror.  It was dark already, though the street lamps were bright.  Masser and Secundus were not far across the sky.

 

“No,” Kala said in a low voice, but fiercely.  “What would you confess? It was she who did wrong.  But you're right that we should go somewhere else for a while.  The neighbors have children.  Come home, and we'll get cleaned up and collect Loriand, and after we've seen to your eye we'll go to Suran.  We'll be safe on the estate until we've decided what to do.”

 

““The guards will ask why we were targets of kidnapping.  They already know Ra'kesh was involved in a fight with Esmera earlier in the week.  They will know it has something to do with organized crime and will want to know how this one is involved.  They will grill him for names and the whole lot...  Ugh.  Yes, Suran is a good idea.” Getting out of town was something they should have done days ago.

 

He wanted to meet Kala's family, but was dismayed over the circumstances.   _ Hello, Sera and Serjo Nend.  This one knows we have just met, but would you mind terribly much if he stays here in hiding from bad people who are after your daughter and himself? Oh, the eye? It was recently stabbed out by someone who was ready to slit your daughter's throat as revenge, all because he stole some gold from a very important man...   _ What a great first impression that would be.

 

Ra'kesh laid his hand on Kala's so she could send them home.  He wanted to run to the temple, pound on the door and throw gold at the feet of the first person who answered and beg them to fix his eye, but they couldn't go walking around in these blood stained clothes without arousing suspicion.  Home first.

 

Kala sketched the gesture and watched the world spin around them.  It seemed to keep spinning for an unconscionably long time after they had arrived.  She stood quite still, stiffening her knees against the tendency to buckle.

 

Loriand was standing by the sink, drying dishes.  He turned swiftly to look at them, pale brows knit in obvious dismay.

 

“You were gone too long, and you are damaged,” he said.  “What has happened?”

 

“We're all right now,” Kala said.  “We're going to the Guild for Sharn to look at Ra'kesh's eye as soon as we're presentable.  We were kidnapped by an old enemy.  She tortured Ra'kesh and I killed her.  She had an accomplice who escaped, who claimed she was just a hireling.” At least, that was Kala's dim memory.  Things from inside that haze were always less clear when it was gone.

 

The elf nodded slowly.  Kala towed Ra'kesh by the hand toward the stairs.  It made sense to share the bath for the sake of saving time, though neither of them would have the inclination or energy for anything more than washing.  Romantic literature tended to exaggerate how much strength one had for making love after doing battle, she thought acerbically.

 

Ra'kesh said nothing to Loriand.  He almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation.  They had taken in Loriand for his own safety, but how could he be safe living under the same roof as Ra'kesh? He let Kala lead him silently away.  The elf was owed a better explanation than all that, but it could wait.

 

“Is Kala really all right?” he asked at the top of the stairs.  She had seemed ill when they arrived.

 

“I'm tired, that's all,” she said.  Getting up the stairs had left her panting again.  She patted Ra'kesh's back with her right hand.  “I had to berserk to get the ropes off.  Let's just get clean.”

 

The need to get both of them through the bath and combed and dressed – she cleaned around his eye tenderly and with great care, fussing over him as much as he allowed – occupied her fully for the next few minutes.  She kept her left wrist out of his line of sight as much and as unobtrusively as she could.  The misshapen nature of the joint was more obvious with the blood cleaned off.

 

It turned out that the new shirts had been delivered while they were gone.  They were in a neat stack on the bed.

 

Ra'kesh allowed Kala to clean him with little resistance.  He shied away from the mirror on the wall as he climbed into the wonderfully hot bath, unable to look at his eye just yet, and kept himself preoccupied with cleaning to avoid thinking about it.  He finally felt safe, enclosed in the familiar little room with Kala in his line of sight.

 

He became aware that Kala was barely using her left hand.  His stomach twisted in knots when he realized something was seriously wrong with it, but she was hiding this to be strong for him.  Another barrage of guilty thoughts weighed him down as he finished the bath then his grooming, which he finished quickly and without looking in the mirror.

 

He had picked fabrics which reminded him of home, vibrant and colorful.  The first shirt on the stack was a salmon pink with red and orange horizontal stripes and geometric designs which were only a few shades darker or lighter than the base color, making it one of the more subdued patterns in his new wardrobe.  None of them matched his presently somber mood.  He dressed quietly in the shirt and new pants, watching Kala dress laboriously without the full use of one hand from the corner of his eye.

 

“When was Kala going to tell him about her hand?” he asked gently.

 

Kala paused in the middle of tying the cloth belt over the dark green robe, raising her head.  Then she deliberately went back to what she was doing, saying calmly,

 

“I didn't want to bother you with such a small thing.  The wrist broke when I was getting the ropes off, and it didn't heal quite right.  I'll have Sharn look at it when we go see her.”

 

She had been stupid.  He had lived by closely observing his surroundings for probably all of his life.  She regretted that she had not been able to hide it from him.  It did not take a telepath to see he was still internally convulsed with guilt.  She was afraid to let him out of her sight for one second, and the idea of sleeping, of waking up to find him gone, terrified her.  It drove the haze of fatigue right out of her head even if it could not make her muscles cooperate.

 

“A broken wrist is no small thing.  Please do not hide such things,” he pleaded.  He couldn't let her shoulder everything alone.  Ra'kesh moved beside Kala and laid a hand on the small of her back.  “He is sorry for what you have endured.  Ra'kesh will be fine, so do not worry for him at the cost of yourself.” He gave her a brief half-hug, smushing their sides together.

 

Kala hugged him back tightly.  “Of course.” 

 

Ra'kesh picked up his clothes to carry down to the knapsacks, but he stopped in front of the bathroom.  He set the clothes on the floor and went inside with a heavy heart - he had to see the damage before they left.  Ra'kesh squared his shoulders to the mirror and took a deep breath before raising his eyes to the reflection.

 

He exhaled sharply at the sight.  The pupil was a giant, skewed hole and there was no golden iris to speak of, only bumpy white scar tissue.  He leaned forward, suddenly sick to his stomach, gripping the counter below the mirror hard and looking away.

 

Ra'kesh was not vain, but he found his patternless fur bland compared to most Khajiit and the golden-flecked amber eyes made up for that in a small way.  Now he had a mutilated eye to match the scar across his nose.  He sucked in air sharply for several long moments before he found himself able to think clearly.

 

He remembered seeing a pair of shears in a drawer at one point.  Ra'kesh came downstairs, eyes downcast and avoiding Loriand's gaze, who was working at some domestic chore that Ra'kesh couldn't see.  He quickly retrieved the shears without a word and came back to the bathroom.  Their bloodstained clothes were still in a heap on the floor.  He cut a long strip from the bottom of his previous shirt and tied the makeshift bandanna around his head, pulling one end over the eye.

 

_ You look ridiculous, _ he thought, checking the effect in the mirror.  But it was better than walking around with the ugliness exposed.  He couldn't believe Kala was able to look at him without recoiling.

 

Moving slowly, he picked up the new clothes again and came downstairs.  Someone would have to tell Loriand to pack up his meager belongings.

 

She hurried about packing a few things for herself.  Her heart jerked in her chest when he passed her with the shears, and she came very close to pushing her way into the bathroom with him, but she saw him take up an old shirt in time to avoid embarrassing them both.  Instead she veered off and went downstairs.

 

“Loriand,” she said as she went to put things into a knapsack.  “I'm afraid I need to explain something to you.”

 

“Please,” he said, and closed the cupboard as he turned to give her his full, solemn attention.  Some women would have blushed and stammered just to be so close to him, and to see him looking so; Kala's thoughts were only of Ra'kesh as she explained to the best of her ability the history of those Ra'kesh had known and what had happened.

 

“I regret this,” Loriand said at the end of it.  “What will we do?”

 

“We'll leave Balmora for a little while, go to a safer place.  Go and pack your things.”

 

Kala cinched the knapsack shut with her right hand, braced against the countertop, then looked up to see Loriand looking at the stairs.  She turned and saw Ra'kesh coming down with a cloth wrapped around his head.  She set the bag down and went to put her arms around him.

 

“It doesn't look as bad as that,” she said.  There was no lie in her eyes.  She might be a mage, but she was an Orc, and a child of Orcs.  Scars were a badge of pride.  She had absolutely meant what she had said earlier about the eye being the price of their lives.

 

Loriand went past them up the stairs without another word.

 

Ra'kesh smiled in spite of the heavy gloom that presently hung over the house.  Kala's kindness was unceasing.

 

“Ah, well.  It is only polite to cover such a thing,” he said.  Any type of physical defect tended to draw stares, something he did not want to deal with.  Maybe someday he could embrace the eye with pride, but not yet.  He realized now that there was probably no hope of recovering his sight, but there was still the matter of Kala's wrist.

 

They finished packing up the food and some alchemy supplies while waiting for Loriand to return.  There was no sense in leaving the food to rot.  Besides, Ra'kesh thought wryly, Kala's parents were probably not expecting three new mouths to feed.

 

Loriand soon returned with his small bag and they were off.  Ra'kesh walked with Kala on his left to see her better, but found that every sound behind or to the right of him made him jump.  His ears flicked about nervously to follow every whisper from the shadows on the empty streets.  Losing vision in one eye was a bigger handicap than he would have expected, but the wound was deeper than the physical: It left him vulnerable and afraid.  At any moment the thing he held most dear could be stolen away, and he was helpless against that.  All it took was the touch of a stranger from behind.

 

He was glad to be putting the house behind them, guilty as he was to be ousting Kala from her own home.  He felt more secure with every block they put between them and that house.  They walked briskly and were at the Mages Guild quicker than any of their previous trips into town.

 

She dropped a letter to Saw-Them-Fall in the box at the end of the street on their way.  It was only fair that the Argonian know what had happened and why she would find an empty house if she came to dinner.

 

Kala sensed Ra'kesh's uneasiness as they walked, occasionally touching him on the arm with her free hand.  The stiff left was perfectly fine for holding the strap of her knapsack on her shoulder, though the hill was a punishment to her aching muscles.  He had not been so fearful when there was a possibility of Augustus coming after just him.  Or perhaps what he had gone through had broken his courage at last, and he would never be able to fight again.  She hurt for that cheerful swagger of two days ago.

 

It startled her momentarily when the image of Esmera's corpse flashed into her mind – not because it inspired her with horror, but because it brought none.  She felt no disgust, no fear of the thing, no shame.  She felt only satisfaction that the woman was dead.  She would never be nauseated by the appearance of violent death again, she realized.  Not after this.

 

Loriand stopped dead at the outer arch of the guild.  Kala realized his footsteps had stopped when she had her hand on the door.  She turned to see him shaking his head.

 

“Veridael said I was not to enter the Guild,” he said.

 

Kala frowned slightly, trying to bring to mind the events of less than a week ago.  The gulf that separated her from them seemed infinite.  Presumably there were people in the Guild who had known Veridael better than a younger sister who had hardly ever seen him, who might trace the resemblance in the face of his copy.

 

“Go to the Lucky Lockup,” she said, pulling some coins from her purse and pressing them into his hand.  “Eat something.  If anyone bothers you, you are allowed to defend yourself.  We'll come and get you when it's time to go.”

 

Loriand bowed deeply, hand cupped around the coins, and walked quietly away.

 

A Magister Kala knew less well was at the desk that night, a yellow-and-orange scaled Argonian with a smooth, crestless head and a row of horns up her nose.  Her name was Fhatein, Kala remembered after a moment's cudgeling of her brains, and she was primarily a conjurer.  The book in her hand was written in Chimer; she set it aside as she looked up.

 

“Good evening, Wizard,” she said.  “To what do we owe this visit?”


	10. Chapter 10

“We're here to see Sharn gra-Muzgub,” Kala said.  “I know it's late, but she always used to keep late hours.  Does she still?”

 

“This one has no doubt of it,” said the Argonian dryly, and waved them in.  “Good luck, my dears.”

 

“And to you,” Kala said.

 

Ra'kesh was relieved to not have to deal with Ranis and thankful the guild was mostly empty.  When he saw the broad-faced, wrinkled Orc with black hair pulled up in a high bun seated at one of the dining tables he knew this must be Sharn.  She had a plate of half-eaten nix and yams pushed to the side, with books and papers spread in front of her.  She glanced up at them briefly as they approached and gave them her full attention after re-reading the line she was on.

 

“Sera gra-Nend, to what do I owe the pleasure?” she said in a low, throaty voice characteristic of her age and species.

 

Kala bowed over her steepled fingers as best she could without being able to bend her wrist.  “Magister gra-Muzgub, my very dear friend and I were attacked today, and my healing has left us marked.  We were hoping you might have time to give us the benefit of your wisdom and experience.”

 

She always addressed Sharn more formally than perhaps she did with some of the others.  It was important that they communicated not as Orcs, but as mages.

 

Sharn returned the salute, eyeing Kala and the stiffness with which she moved her wrist.

 

“That is troubling news.  Of course I have the time.  And you are?” Like many older people, Sharn was able to speak bluntly without coming off as rude.  She stood from the bench and moved in front of them.

 

“Ra'kesh.  Her wrist was broken.” He tilted his head toward Kala, indicating she should be helped first.  He wasn't in any pain, but he assumed Kala had to at least be uncomfortable.

 

“Give me your arm.  The more details you can give me about what caused it, the better,” Sharn said, pushing up the sleeves of her flowing gray robe and holding out her hand.

 

Kala opened her mouth to argue with Ra'kesh, but Sharn was already speaking, and she would not interrupt the Magister.  She rolled back her own green sleeve to reveal the lumpy wrist more clearly and held it out.  The older woman's hand was warm and her grasp was firm, plucking at parts of Kala's mind that said  _ relax,  _ and she fought it with every fiber.  Her arm twinged occasionally, but at the end of such a day it was not such discomfort as she was prepared to really notice.

 

“I was tied to a chair with my hands behind me, secured with ropes,” she said.  “I had to use the  _ hezh _ to get free.” It was a more dignified word than  _ berserk  _ in the original Orcish, and would convey to Sharn unambiguously what had happened, lacking other connotations of the word in Common.  “The ropes came away, but sisal is stronger than flesh.  I still had a bracer on my right arm.”

 

To the practiced hands of Sharn it was evident that the smaller bone of the forearm had snapped off at the end, then healed pushed in at an angle, creating a lump at one side of the wrist and fusing the big bone with the smaller bones of the hand; two more bones of the hand itself were crushed in on the right side and had healed with one atop the other, creating another lump and further impeding movement.  It was consistent with Kala's story – she had jerked her wrists apart against great resistance, but only the right had been partly shielded from the force of her bonds.

 

Sharn listened to the story with concern and gently released the arm when she was done with her exam.  She folded her own hands inside her sleeves, mouth drawn taut around her tusks in a grim line.

 

“Fixing this is possible, but complicated.  It's going to hurt.  Let's have a look at your friend first,” she said, turning to Ra'kesh.  He had no visible injuries other than an obviously old scar, so she assumed his ailment lay below the hastily made eyepatch.  Ra'kesh ducked his head shyly, ears turning back.

 

“It is his eye,” Ra'kesh said hesitantly.  He pulled the cloth up for her to see.  She did not react, having seen much worse in her long career.  Sharn guided Ra'kesh to sit on the bench so she could get a better look.  She handled him gently but with no apologies for invading his personal space as she held open his eyelid or turned him by the jaw to see from a different angle.

 

“I'm afraid this is another matter,” she said regretfully, pulling away from him when she was satisfied with her inspection.  “The bones in Kala's hand still exist; it is merely a matter of rearranging them.  Too much of the iris and lens have been destroyed.  I cannot make something from nothing.  I'm sorry.”

 

Ra'kesh already knew in his heart there was no saving the eye, but still the words were a blow to him.  He slumped against the table, dropping his gaze to the floor.

 

Kala nodded at the first diagnosis.  It was more or less what she had expected.  She waited, dread sitting on her stomach like a heavy stone, while Sharn examined Ra'kesh.  This was no surprise either, but it stung her to watch him hear it.  Now she sat down beside him and put her arm around his waist, reminding him that he was not alone.

 

“Thank you, Magister,” she said.  “I'm so sorry, dear.” It was on the tip of her tongue to say  _ I should have told her to take mine instead,  _ but if she had chosen thus, she would never have had the opportunity to get free of the chair.  Both of them would be dead.  She still believed it had been the right decision; but she hated herself for believing it, hated that she had not gotten free soon enough to save his eye.

 

Ra'kesh put a hand on her knee and looked up with a forced smile.  He genuinely appreciated her support, even if he had a hard time showing it just now.

 

“It is all right, he will be fine.  Let him mope for a day or two and Ra'kesh will be back to his old self.  An eye was a pittance to pay for your life, after all.”

 

Sharn watched the exchange with curiosity.  She had heard about the incident with the Argonian from Magister Marayn, but thought the matter closed.  She decided she would pry, but after Kala was healed.

 

“If you're ready I can fix that wrist now,” Sharn said.  She cleaned up her books and instructed Kala to sit with her arm across the table.  Sharn sat opposite her, rolling up her sleeves again.

 

“I'm going to break the fused bones, and it's going to hurt, but you need to hold still as best you can,” she explained.  “This is actually destruction magic, not restoration, but it is necessary in this case.  I'll re-heal the bones as quickly as I can.  We're going to do this in two different places.  Break, heal, break, heal.” Sharn pointed without touching.

 

Ra'kesh turned around on the bench and held Kala one arm around her shoulder to steady her.  He held her free hand in his own, giving her something to squeeze.  Sharn waited for Kala's nod that she was ready and held her weathered hands over Kala's.  A tiny burst of red flashed from her hand to Kala's wrist, accompanied with a crack and a sharp pain.  A blue glow followed shortly.  Sharn moved her hands over the second spot and repeated the process.  She gave Kala a moment to recover from the pain before speaking.  Ra'kesh watched, brows drawn together in deep concern.

 

“Move your wrist and tell me how it feels.”

 

Kala listened, nodded respectfully, and sat where she was told.  The first break sent a lancing pain through her arm, and though she had thought she was ready, the room went white for a second; her eyes were still open, but Ra'kesh felt her hand slacken in his as her face blanked.  When her vision had cleared she nodded again, not sure if Sharn had spoken or not.  The second time it lasted longer, she was not sure how long, and it was harder to come back, blackness waiting at the edges of everything.  The spots were still clearing as Sharn spoke again.

 

Kala looked down at her wrist in surprise.  It now almost matched the other, noticeably thicker only when they were placed side by side.  She rotated it carefully, then went through a couple of her spell gestures without actually casting, moving the fingers and hand.  It still felt a little stiff, still was a little less flexible than the other, but it was not the ruined club that it had been.  She felt that she would be able to use it as she had before.

 

“Much - ” she swallowed against a dry throat.  “Much better.  I am greatly in your debt.  What do I owe you, Magister?”

 

“I'd say you owe me an explanation, wouldn't you?” Sharn said seriously, glancing briefly at Ra'kesh then back to Kala.  “It may be none of my business, but if you're in trouble, the guild is one place you should be able to turn to.  You have friends here, you know.”

 

Kala was not one to cry often: not when in pain, not when afraid, not even while making love.  But Sharn's words made her eyes sting.  For a moment she turned her face away, breathing deeply, and tried not to think of her mother.  Then she said, almost inaudibly,

 

“Ra'kesh, how much are you willing that I tell?”

 

Ra'kesh hesitated, which earned him a glare from the older Orc.

 

“You may tell everything that you know.  All names Kala knows now belong to ones who are dead.  There is no danger to Sharn if she knows them.” He still hadn't told Kala the name of Esmera's employer, and it was better this way.  The Khajiit that abducted them was a stranger to Ra'kesh, and she claims to have been hired by Esmera, but he could not discount the possibility that more friends of Augustus had tied his death to Ra'kesh and were out for revenge.

 

So Kala explained as much as she knew, omitting anything to do with Drakan-Ka or Loriand.  Those things were not really germane, they had just been mixed up at the same point in time.

 

She did not discuss Ra'kesh's addiction or slavery, for those were now wounds that she felt might reasonably be kept between them; but she did not gloss over the theft either.  Sharn was too intelligent an Orc not to ask why the man had wanted Ra'kesh killed in the first place.  Kala explained the kidnapping in full, and the bracers.

 

“She asked me to choose whose eye she would take,” Kala said quietly.  “I had to time the unlock when the bracers' enchantment was at ebb, and I needed her distracted from the sound so that I had time to achieve the  _ hezh _ and get out of the chair.  I chose Ra'kesh, and I did not get to her fast enough to stop it.  The Khajiit Fahrazadi fled while I was finishing Esmera off.” 

 

She had thrown the boots into the refuse bin with their clothes.  They were ruined.  She was now wearing her soft shoes instead.  

 

“We healed ourselves with potions as best we could, and I recalled us home.  We will go to my parents' estate when we have left here.  It is in another city.  I sent a letter to our friend from the Morag Tong, so that she will know to be wary.” Kala chuckled tiredly, without much humor.  “She probably is anyway.”

 

She had managed to keep the strain out of her voice for most of it, but when she spoke about the eye she quavered for a moment.

 

Ra'kesh stood beside her with an arm around Kala's waist as she finished the story, reminding her that she had done best regardless of the results.  Sharn listened intently, fingers steepled together as she thought.

 

“It's quite an ordeal you have gone through,” she said slowly, after a pause.  “I'm not sure what to say.  Leaving is probably the smartest course of action for now, but don't hesitate to come to me if there's anything you need.  Magister Marayn, too.  He did express some concerns to me.”

 

“There is something,” Ra'kesh interrupted.  “This one is tired of being useless.  He would like to learn magic.  A healing spell at least, maybe unlock or recall.  If this sort of thing should ever happen again, he must be able to do  _ something _ .” He looked away, teeth gritted in anger at the memory of helplessness.  His expression softened as he looked back at Sharn.  “Ra'kesh is not asking for free favors, of course.  He has gold to pay for lessons.”

 

Sharn nodded.

 

“Of course.  Come see me whenever you're back in town,” she said.

 

She patted Kala on the arm that was not presently being hugged by a Khajiit.

 

“And take care of yourself, girl.”

 

Kala nodded, rubbing between her eyes with the heel of her hand.  She lifted her head as Ra'kesh spoke.

 

“That is a very good idea.  I thank you again, Magister.” She had just been given hundreds of golds' worth of healing in exchange for a story, and she was not likely to forget that.  She teared up again when Sharn touched her, reaching out to grasp the older woman's hand for a moment in silent thanks; then she turned toward the upward ramp, tugging Ra'kesh with her.  She did not want to let him go, even now fighting off the terror that he would vanish if she let him out of her line of sight.

 

Loriand had eaten a large dinner (he had been carefully instructed vis a vis tips by Veridael), drunk a small mazte, and had politely declined spending the evening with a couple of different women and subsequently a very handsome Breton man.  Now he was seated near the stairs up and out, spear leaning against the wall in easy reach, hands resting on the table as he waited.

 

It wasn't that he didn't know what sex  _ was.   _ Again, Veridael had explained in some detail, with diagrams from a book.  He just had trouble understanding why anyone would want to do it.  He had never experienced either spontaneous arousal or a desire to achieve it, and everything involved with it seemed incredibly complicated and liable to miscommunication.

 

They collected him from there with a wave and a gesture from Kala.  Ra'kesh could smell mazte on his breath and would have welcomed a drink right about then, but keeping alert was best.

 

It was a short walk to the strider.  Hauling the knapsacks up the stairs of the tall platform was obnoxious, even if the load was much lighter than previous trips.  Ra’kesh shrugged off the bag at the top.

 

The driver was a thin Dunmer with long white hair pulled back in a tail and unremarkable commoner's clothes, currently asleep in the hollow carved into the silt strider's armor.  A little canvas awning protected part of the cabin from the elements, but most of the space was exposed to the air.  He was leaning back in a chair with his feet propped up on the controls, a circle of red pulsing flesh where the strider's chitin had been cut away to expose the nervous system.  Little sticks protruded from various points.  Ra'kesh wondered what would happen if the elf's foot slipped while he was asleep and smacked one of those sticks.

 

“Erm...  hello?” Ra'kesh said.

 

“Hrnk!” the man said in a half-snore, half-yelp as he jolted awake.  “What's that? Of course! Where to, Serjo?”

 

Ra'kesh loaded Kala's bag and his own while she discussed the price for three to Suran and estimated time of arrival with the driver.  The prospect of stepping from the platform onto the beast was frightful, especially with no depth perception, but the driver flicked a control with practiced ease and the strider moved completely flush with the platform, legs bowed as it lowered itself just so.

 

“Nothing to be afraid of, striders are perfectly safe,” Ra'kesh said to Loriand, peering over the edge once they were inside.  His head spun, the distance to the ground seeming to expand and contract.  Ra'kesh quickly pulled himself back and covered his mouth.

 

The ride was uneventful and even peaceful after Ra'kesh grew accustom to the rhythmic swaying of the long-legged gait.  The night was cool, a banner of starry skies stretched above their heads and the landscape rolled by at a casual pace.  Under the light of moon and star he could see for miles in any direction.  Every once in a while the strider would emit a mournful howl that set his teeth on edge, but the ride was relaxing other than that.

 

Most importantly, they were safe.  There were no assassins or kidnappers sixty feet in the air.  By morning they would be far away from such troubles.  He leaned against Kala on the soft mat provided by their host, backs against the strider's shell.  They talked sleepily and eventually dozed hand in hand.

 

Kala had ridden the strider before, and normally it was something she enjoyed.  That night it was a particular relief to be alone with Ra'kesh and Loriand and the driver, far above the ground and away from crowded streets and alleys.  An occasional cliff racer coasted past them at the level of the cabin.  After the first two she paid them no mind.  They talked as they sat there, but she did not remember anything that was said.  Often she slept, swimming in and out of anxious dreams.  When she woke she tightened her hand on Ra'kesh's, always, but he was still there, and she sighed and sank back again.

 

Loriand sat alert for the entire ride, watching the driver and the landscape alternately.  Kala and Ra'kesh seemed healthier now, but he watched them too, just in case.  He did not like the Orc's color.  She was pale.  He was uncomfortable with the fact that he could not tell that about the Khajiit at all.  For the last few weeks of Veridael's life he had learned to awaken if he heard the Altmer start to choke, and then he would go and sit him up in bed and thump his chest and back until he cleared the blockage.  It had felt strange to sleep in a quiet house, with no coughing or snoring.

 

Ra’kesh woke up sometime around morning.  Magnus was just beginning to rise, spilling his golden light over the horizon to the east.

 

“How much longer?” Ra'kesh asked the driver, stretching and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

 

“There she is now, matter of fact,” he responded, pointing to a tower in the distance.  Ra'kesh blanched beneath his fur when he saw the wide, steep-banked river that lay between them and Suran, with nothing but a rickity bridge far too narrow for the silt strider to walk upon.

 

"Er, how is this supposed to work..." he said, trying to hide his alarm.  The driver chuckled.  They'd passed through the Odai just after leaving Balmora, but it was shallow and narrow at that part.  This river was impossibly wide and deep.

 

"Just sit pretty, old Felsa knows what she's doing," he reassured his passenger, affectionately patting the strider's chitinous hide.  As if in response, the creature belowed a howl that must have been heard for miles.  Ra'kesh gritted his teeth and braced his arms against the walls of the compartment.

 

Before he knew it the long-legged strider had brought them to the river.  Without even a pause the creature swung its legs into the deep water.  For a moment the cabin tilted forward and Ra'kesh almost shrieked, but contained himself.  He grabbed hold of the bamboo poles that held the canvas cover and tried not to look down.  In another second the giant insect was digging its legs into the other side of the shore and pulling them back onto land, causing the cabin to lurch in the opposite direction.

 

Just like that, the ordeal was over and they were disembarking at the Suran platform.  The fur of Ra'kesh's neck and back stood straight up while they unloaded their things.

 

Kala woke when Ra'kesh let go of her hand, then braced herself, yawning, as the cabin tilted in a familiar way.  They were arriving.  She scrambled up to get her knapsack and found Loriand holding it along with his own.  He asked politely if he might be allowed to carry it.  She patted him and went to give the driver an extra tip for making a night ride.

 

Ra'kesh looked bigger than himself, puffed up inside his clothes.  Kala ran a soothing hand down his back as they stepped off the stairs at the bottom of the platform.

 

“It's all right,” she told him.  “Nobody's liable to see us arrive this early.  It's a bit of a walk out to the plantation if we go by the bridge, but that way there's no one who remembers rowing us across.” She still ached, but not as badly; sleeping on the strider had helped.

 

The bridge was made of marshmerrow slats and rope weighted with boards, and it creaked gently under them as they crossed, the water glittering far below in the light of sunrise.  Five miles' walk was indeed a bit much for both of them, though Loriand took it in stride.  The road was quiet in the early morning, with only a guar-driver slouching along behind his pack of big-mouthed, two-legged lizards; one tried to lick Ra'kesh as they went past.  There were trees around the path, and comberry bushes, casting strange shadows in the uneven golden light.  They passed small huts and farms whose buildings were in the Hlaalu style, square and nearly windowless, and one larger plantation with slaves already at work in the saltrice field.  All of them were Khajiit or Argonians.  Kala touched Ra'kesh's back again as they passed, but could not force herself to look at them closely.

 

Ra’kesh found that a five mile walk was not easy after a night of little sleep.  It was irritating that they had to go out of their way just because the strider's long legs could not deliver them anywhere other than the specially made platform.  Couldn't the Aedra have given silt striders shorter legs when they designed the world?

 

“Next time we will bring rope and slide down right over the plantation,” Ra'kesh grumbled halfway through their journey.  He had his jump amulet- it had been removed by Esmera but was among their belongings which Kala retrieved- but he would leave the others in the dust if he used that.

 

Thinking of the amulet reminded him of Esmera's decomposing body back in Balmora.  He wondered how long it would be before anybody found it, and felt sorry for the landlord or realtor who would be tasked with the cleanup.

 

Kala offered to take the knapsack back twice.  Loriand politely declined both times.  He kept looking at Ra'kesh, but apparently he was unable to muster the nerve to ask to carry that bag as well.

 

Eventually, when Kala's feet felt as though they were about to fall off, she saw a familiar watch tower looming above the trees in the distance.  Shortly after, the wall loomed up on their left.  It was high enough to prevent easy climbing, and the earth was graveled around the outside for three feet from the wall.  No tree stood close enough to scale it, and it was too narrow for a walkway on top.

 

“There's the wall,” she said.  “We'll come to the main gate before too long.”

 

Ra'kesh nervously adjusted his eyepatch and smoothed down his clothes.

 

“So,” he began lightly.  “Just to be sure we have our story straight - what exactly shall we tell Kala's parents we are here for? And how will Loriand be explained? Does she plan to tell them the truth?” Ra'kesh didn't mind if she did - he couldn't ask her to lie to her parents - although he couldn't imagine they'd ever have a positive opinion of him after this.

 

“My plan was to tell them the truth about you and not lie directly about Loriand,” Kala said.  “I'm going to tell them he's the relative of a late colleague who had nowhere to go, and when they've talked to him for five minutes they'll understand that he can't be left to himself.  Sorry, Loriand.”

 

“I am also sorry,” he said.

 

“They trust me, even if they wish I'd gone into a different vocation,” she said.  “When they know you better they will trust you, too.  They weren't born rich, and – well, you'll see.” There were other things in his favor, among them the fact that he had an obvious combat injury and was not a mage; but there wasn't time to explain that before they came to the wrought iron gate.  It was not decorated with a crest, only with spikes, heavy and black.

 

As they approached a tall figure in heavy armor appeared behind it, heavy warhammer in hand, shield on the other arm.  The design was not unlike many steel armors, without carving or enamel, but the helmet had little horns appended, and the sheen of the metal was a little different – very slightly yellowish, oily.  It was adamantine.  The ability to dress hired guards in it was a badge of status; the small maker's mark on the front right of the breastplate was a greater, for it was proof that it had been forged here, not bought in Mournhold.

 

“Good morning,” said a man's voice, echoing slightly from behind the visor.  The glimpse of flesh behind it was pinkish.  “May I help you?”


	11. Chapter 11

“Good morning, Serjo,” said Kala, bowing from the shoulders.  She did not tip over.  She was proud.  “I'm Kala gra-Nend.  If I'm not mistaken my parents are up and at breakfast.  Please tell them I'm here with Ra'kesh and a friend, and convey my apologies that I was unable to write in advance.”

 

“Right you are, Sera!” The man vanished from view, and there was a loud rattling as he  _ ran  _ for the main house.  It could be glimpsed up the walk to their left, a sprawling manse with two wings and a high front portico.

 

To the right lay the forge complex, low stone buildings in the Imperial style, already steaming as the furnaces were heated.  Beyond stretched fields of saltrice, ash yam, comberry; not enough to sell as produce, but enough for self-sufficiency.  She could look at these workers without shame.  They were without bracers, and not all were betmer.  Their lives might not be easy, but at least they were free and paid.  Smaller structures dotted the farther reaches of the estate, she knew, but many were hidden by trees.  No tree was suffered to grow close to the wall, and the walk that lined it inside was graveled as the one without; stealthily entering would be impossible without levitation.

 

About thirty seconds later a familiar figure emerged from the front door of the manse, limping slightly as he favored his left leg; at this distance she could barely make out features, but her father had worn the same style of shaved topknot since she was five.  As he drew closer the details of his clothing could be made out, practical wool and linen marked out as expensive by its cut and fit rather than by the fabrics.  And it was certainly tailored; Bulo gro-Nend was built like a muck-sponge, thick and heavy, and clothes off-the-rack had never fit him properly.  In his younger days he and his wife had sewed them.  His face was broad and heavy as well, not thick with chins but seemingly all jutting jaw and big, flat nose.  Ritual scars dotted his beetling brows and cheekbones in a double arch.  His face was heavily lined.  Kala was his youngest child.

 

“It's her.  Open it, armsman,” he said.  The adamantine-armored guard hurried to obey as the old man stopped just inside the gate, looking them over critically.  He lingered on Ra'kesh's eye a long moment before he raised a curious eyebrow at Loriand.  “Well, welcome home, girl,” he said as the gate slid back.  “Introduce me to your friends.”

 

“Papa, this is Ra'kesh,  _ khav'hat nesh _ ,” she said, trying to keep any defiance out of her voice as she used the phrase that meant  _ my lover through war _ .  It was a designation appropriate only to one who had shared both bed and hazards.  “This is Loriand, our friend, whose situation I shall explain further presently.  This is my father, Bulg gro-Nend.”

 

Bulg raised both eyebrows at the words, but he did not seem immediately angry.  Kala characterized it as a promising start.  He nodded to each of the others as they were introduced.

 

Ra'kesh couldn't help but stare bug-eyed at the sprawling estate.  He could infer the family had money based on the fact they lived on a plantation and had gifted an entire house to their daughter, but the beauty and size of the place was more than he expected.  That they could afford paid workers when most everyone in the region relied upon slaves was doubly impressive.

 

Ra'kesh held his ears forward politely when Kala introduced him, glancing curiously to the side at the unknown words.  Heat rose on his face; he could guess the meaning of the phrase.  He bowed deeply to her father.

 

“Good morning, Serjo gro-Nend.  It is a pleasure to meet you.” He didn't know the preferred honorific in Orsimer, so he went with the Morrowind standard instead.

 

“And you, Serjo.” Kala was pleased to see her father return the bow.  “You are welcome to our home.” Behind them, the armsman slid the gate shut.  “Sera gra-Nend is supervising the guest rooms being aired.  She'll be with us before long.  Don't stand too much on ceremony, we don't when the family's all here,” he added, turning to start back toward the house as he waved them on after him.  Kala moved up to walk on his left side, trying not to wince as her feet twanged.

 

“So, we know a little about Ra'kesh from your letter.” His tone indicated  _ not nearly enough,  _ but she had been expecting that.  “What's Loriand's story?”

 

“He was a relation of one of my colleagues in the Guild,” Kala explained.  “Veridael passed away and left him alone, and He… Well… He can't really be alone, and Veridael's family didn't know what to do with him.”

 

“You look strong enough,” Bulg said to Loriand, who was still carrying two knapsacks and a spear, towering over all three of them.  “I've never seen an Altmer so big.”

 

“Yes, Serjo.  I am very strong,” he said seriously.

 

“Hm.” Bulg raised an eyebrow at Kala,  _ is he simple or something?  _ She shrugged one shoulder,  _ it's complicated. _

 

“He's been staying with us, but we need to find a good situation for him.  He's very good at following instructions but it's hard for him to do things on his own,” she said.

 

“And what's happened to the two of you? You look all in, girl.”

 

“It is a long story.  I'd rather wait until we've found Mama.”

 

Ra'kesh adjusted the straps of the knapsack against his shoulders and followed silently a step behind Bulg's right side.  Her father was better spoken than the Orcish pirates and riff-raff Ra'kesh had known over the years, and even larger.  He seemed a good man.  Of course he would be - the family that had raised Kala could be nothing else.  Ra'kesh mentally chided himself for being so nervous.

 

His ears perked at the mention of a letter.  Ra'kesh wondered what Kala had said about him.

 

The open door of the house let out a waft of delicious smells – roast meat, cooking eggs, fresh bread.  Kala's mouth watered automatically.

 

The front door was opened by a sturdy Human in garments similar to Bulg's, with the addition of white gloves and a black tunic.  His face had scars around the eyes, and his ears were asymmetrical and misshapen below the dome of his bald head, like a prize-fighter.  He looked to be in his mid to late forties.  He stepped back and bowed them all in, then shut the door behind them.

 

The door opened into a very large vestibule, with doors to left and right and a set of larger double doors in front of them, below a pair of long green-carpeted stairways leading up to the balcony of the second floor.  The decoration was more Imperial than Hlaalu, including a patriotic though speculative portrait of Tiber Septim.  There were potted plants by the stairs, and the rug had been very expensive but was now worn, showing the marks of many feet.

 

“Oh, I hope you can all eat,” her father said as he moved across to the double doors.  “It'll help your mother feel better after she's seen you, Kala.”

 

Kala had opened her mouth to object to this characterization when the big doors opened and her mother stood there in her fine velvet skirts and woolen tunic, one hand on a substantial hip, graying hair coming loose from the braids on her head.  She had a linen vest on that hung around her knees, delicately embroidered with what on close inspection were tiny pictures of rows of weapons.  Behind her was a table big enough to hold ten people – necessity rather than pompous expenditure, with Kord's entire family living on the estate.  Her elder brother and his wife and Zel had probably already finished and gone to the forge, children hurried off to their tutors.

 

“Gentlemen, my wife Zulee,  _ khav'hat natho _ ,” grunted Bulg.  This phrase meant  _ lover through years,  _ and had been used in Orsinium to indicate approximately a spouse before the legal concept of “wife” or “husband” had been absorbed from the Imperium.  “Zulee, this is - ”

 

“Kala gra-Nend, you get over here and hug your mother!” barked Zulee.  “Good gods, you're wasting away to nothing at all.” Kala had been living away from home for years, had worked terribly hard to earn her parents' respect in her chosen vocation, had resisted the urge to embrace her father on sight; but now she squeaked like a tiny child, dropped her knapsack and ran to bury her face in her mama's shirt.  They were roughly of a height, and it was easy to see where Kala had inherited the tendency to a thicker body, though she was much smaller in bulk than her mother now.  Zulee had breasts that had been the envy of her acquaintance from a very young age, and had also been part of what had driven her into smithing – she couldn't buy a breastplate to fit over them.

 

Kala found herself sniffling.  Zulee patted her hair.  “There, there, come and tell me all about it.”

 

Ra'kesh's lip twitched up in a small, bittersweet smile watching Kala run to her mother.  It made him very happy to know she had a loving and dependable family.  The smile faded when he heard sniffles.

 

“This is Ra'kesh,  _ khav'hat nesh _ , and this is Loriand, who is a friend of theirs,” Bulg continued, unruffled.

 

“ _ khav'hat nesh _ ? THAT wasn't in your letter, although we did wonder.  Well, come in, come in, boys, eat up before it's cold.” She waved them all into the dining room, arm around Kala's shoulders.  Kala looked very sheepish as she wiped her eyes.  “What happened to the eye?”

 

Ra'kesh was startled by the bluntness of the question, but his face didn't show it.  His affect grew serious as he pulled a chair out from the table and seated himself.  He was starving and the food smelled delicious, but he made no move for it.  If they were going to tell Kala's parents the truth, it should come from him.

 

“It is a long story, and related to the reason we have come,” he began, looking Zulee and Bulg in the eye alternately as he spoke.  He started from the beginning: his involvement with a group of criminals from Vivec, his theft of the lockbox and his subsequent hunting by Tiras and Esmera.  Ra'kesh did not hide that he had been an addict.  He stole the drakes to pay for skooma and forgot where he hid it, also because of skooma.  He loathed for them to hear it, but they had a right to know everything.

 

Ra'kesh found it difficult to speak when he neared the end of the story.  He had to pause several times and collect his thoughts before continuing.  Ra'kesh told them that Kala killed Esmera but didn't go into further detail.  He couldn't help but break the gaze and look down at the table as he finished.

 

“That is how he lost the eye.  This one can never say how sorry...how ashamed he is for endangering your daughter.” He finished the tale with his hands in his lap, looking dejectedly from one to the other of her parents, fully prepared to accept an earful from either of them.

 

The others sat down as well, Kala on Ra'kesh's right, Loriand on his left.  Kala kept her hand on his back as he talked, keeping contact.  She was proud of him, and she knew how hard it was, what he was saying.  Loriand listened impassively, hands on the table on either side of his plate, quite still.

 

The two older Orcs sat across from them, not at the ends of the table.  They exchanged glances occasionally, unreadable to anyone but each other.  When Ra'kesh had finished, Bulg said,

 

“Thank you for telling us the full story.  That took courage.”

 

“How?” Zulee asked Kala.  She did not elaborate.  Kala knew what she would want to know.

 

“I electrocuted her with a spell, and then I stamped on her head,” Kala said.

 

“HA!” Zulee slapped the tabletop, rattling the dishes.  “See, girl, this is what happens when you listen to your mother about having skills that can defend you.  If you had not paid for a spell that could do harm where would you be?”

 

“Pity you let the other one get away,” grunted Bulg.  Zulee waved at him dismissively.

 

“Bah.  They're both alive.  That's what matters.”

 

“The important thing is that you are trying to change your old life for a better one,” Bulg said to Ra'kesh.  “Zulee and I were not respectable people when we met - ”

 

“We were bandits,” Zulee said.  “Used to work the Red Ring Road in Cyrodiil.”

 

“What??” said Kala.  She sat stunned.  She had heard them talk about living in Cyrodiil as youths, and of meeting on the road, but that had certainly never conveyed to her any such idea.

 

“We decided when we decided to have children that it was time to take to smithing as our only vocation, and to leave the bad life for a better one.  We wanted a better life for them.  No one will ever be good enough for our little girl,” Zulee said.  “We have discussed it, Bulg and I.  But she said in her letter that you saved her life while she was on her little expedition to Dagon Fel, that you are a man of some prowess in combat.  And ten thousand drakes is not a bad start in life.  You could do worse.”

 

Bulg grunted agreement.  “But if she ever comes home with claw marks on her face, I will wring your neck with my bare hands.”

 

“Papa,” Kala said weakly.  She was still trying to process the concept of bandits in association with the concept of her parents.

 

Ra'kesh's ears lifted at their reaction.  He was too sick with nerves to smile, but suddenly Kala's imitation of a bandit chief back in Drakan-Ka was all the more comical.  He almost mentioned it before realizing it might bring up questions about the ruin.  It was better to steer clear of that topic.

 

“Y-Yes Serjo!” Ra'kesh stammered, back and ears stiffening straight up.  Then, finally, he grinned and patted Kala's leg.  “It is okay.  It is only natural for a father to be protective.” He reached across the table to help himself to the cooling meat and eggs.

 

“Ra'kesh thinks Kala could probably best him in a fight,” he continued in a happier tone.  “It was usually she saving his hide during our travels.  Ra'kesh was a pirate for many years in his early life, yes, but Kala's power as a mage has grown even in the short time he has known her.”

 

He ate with more manners than usual, although he felt much more at ease around these people now that the burden of his story was finished.  Ra'kesh could easily become fond of them both.

 

“I suppose it has its uses,” Bulg said.  “Anyway, meeting you apparently has made her start learning  _ practical  _ spells, so that's good.”

 

“I can't believe you never told me you were bandits,” Kala said.

 

“Eat, eat.” Her mother scraped food onto her plate and set it firmly in front of her.  Loriand had begun quietly helping himself when Bulg and Ra'kesh did.  “You've both been through Oblivion this week.  Recover your strength.” She pushed a basket of comberry muffins closer to Ra'kesh.

 

“Have you thought about being a guard?” Bulg asked Loriand.  The Altmer finished chewing and swallowed before replying.  His table manners were very neat.  Kala had to assume Veridael had taught him.

 

“No, Serjo.  I do not think that would be allowed.”

 

“You can call me Bulg.  Or if that's too hard, call me Sarge, that's what the lads call me.  Most of my guards here are ex-Legionnaires, a couple of ex-city guards, one former Ordinator.  Good fellows.  You should meet them.  Have you ever worn heavy armor?”

 

“Yes, Sarge, I have worn Dwemer armor,” Loriand said.  He looked hopeful.

 

“You know how to use that spear?”

 

“Yes, Sarge.  I am reasonably proficient with the spear.  With blades as well.  I have limited experience with blunt weapons and would require additional training to use a warhammer routinely.”

 

“The lads use their own weapons,” Bulg waved a hand.  “I don't set store by everything matching that closely.”

 

“That's a nice shirt,” Zulee told Ra'kesh.

 

And that was how it went for a while.  Her parents chatted with Ra'kesh and Loriand in a friendly way as they ate, and then Bulg took Loriand out to see the plantation and the guardhouse.  He invited Ra'kesh to come as well, but Zulee objected, hand familiarly on the Khajiit's arm.

 

“Oh no, you don't.  Tomorrow you can haul them all over the grounds.  Today is for rest.  I'm not perfectly certain you should be dragging Loriand out there either.”

 

“I would very much like to go, Sera,” Loriand said, eyes big and limpid.

 

“Well, all right, but don't let him tire you out,” she said, in the teeth of the evidence.  Loriand looked ready to walk thirty miles carrying Bulg.

 

“Yes, Sera.”

 

“Good boy.  I like him,” she told Kala and Ra'kesh when they had gone.  “He doesn't seem awfully bright but at least he's very polite.  Get your bags, I'll show you the room.”

 

She led them upstairs as three maids hustled in to start clearing the table, chattering among themselves.  Ra'kesh was probably the only one who could understand them; all were Khajiit, two calico and one white as snow, red-eyed, a coloration that probably rendered her unable to do outdoor work.  They were mostly talking about a boy one of them liked, with diversions into the topic of braiding and hair ribbons.

 

The room was bigger than the master bedroom in Kala's house, although the bed was about the same size.  There was a big roughly-polished dresser and an even bigger wardrobe, a tilting mirror, and a heavy braided rug on the floor.  A basin with a pitcher and bowl stood on a table near the door.  The night stands matched the bedstead, all of it heavy and simple, not elaborately worked or carved.

 

“The convenience is just across the hall.  You have to work the pump for a bit before it starts running,” Zulee told them.  “I'll give you some time.  Come see me when you've slept, Kala.”

 

Kala hugged her mother tightly, holding back further tears.  “I'm so glad to be here, Mama.”

 

“Of course, girl.  You'll both be safe here.” She squeezed back, patting her.  “Rest now.  Talk more later.” And she kissed Kala on the cheek, longer tusks poking slightly, and waved to Ra'kesh in a friendly way and went out and shut the door.

 

Kala immediately went over to put her arms around Ra'kesh, shuddering.

 

Ra'kesh embraced her, squeezing reassuringly before moving one hand to stroke the back of her head.

 

“What is it, love?” he asked gently, pulling away just enough so he could look down into her eyes with concern.

 

She looked up at him, resisting the urge to bury her face in his shirt and weep.  She could feel hysteria burbling just under the surface, and if she started she would not be able to stop.  She sought words to explain it.

 

“I'm tired,” she said.  “And I'm so relieved.  I wasn't sure how that was going to go.  You handled it so well, dear, you were perfect.  And we're safe.  I've been afraid to take my eye, my hand from you since we escaped.  I thought you might hurt yourself, or run away from me for my own good.  Gods, I almost made an idiot of myself when I saw you with the shears.” She babbled it all out without being able to stop herself.

 

His eyes widened in mild shock.  He shushed her and pulled her tight against his chest again.  Ra'kesh hadn't realized she'd been worrying about all that.  Honesty, he had thought about disappearing, but that would just leave her to fend off future attacks alone.  It was difficult to inform one's pursuers of a change in address when one does not know when or where they will strike from next.

 

But it would hurt him too much to leave.  Ra'kesh would truly rather die.

 

“Silly Orc, Ra'kesh is far too selfish to part with his dearest treasure, and he would never hurt himself.  Everything is going to be all right now.” He spoke softly into her ear and kissed her there when he had finished, whiskers brushing against her face.

 

He pulled her over to the bed by the hand and sat.  Then he grinned at her.

 

“Ra'kesh likes Kala's parents very much.  Everything about her suddenly makes more sense.  Khajiit has many stories to trade with Zulee and Bulg, and it seems they have untold stories for Kala.” He cocked his head at her, eye glittering with mirth.  “But now, rest.  You will feel better then, and Ra'kesh will not leave your side.”

 

He felt her sigh deeply as he kissed her, melting against his body.  She sat heavily next to him, leaning on his shoulder.  When he referred to her parents she laughed.

 

“Bloody, flaming Akatosh, bandits.  I never would have imagined it.” She rubbed at her eyes.  “Will you lie down with me? I'm so tired.”

 

She nudged her shoes off with as little movement as possible.  It felt so good to have her feet not touching the floor.

 

“Of course,” he said.  Ra'kesh was plenty tired too.  He left his clothes and belt in a pile on the floor and spooned her under the clean, fresh blankets, holding her tightly against himself.  The cloth on his head moved too much against the pillow, so he put it on the nightstand.

 

Things were not really okay - the black that invaded half his field of vision was a constant reminder of that, but for now they were safe and in each other's arms.  He would worry later.  Ra'kesh watched her from behind, thinking how lucky he was to have met her, and did not close his own eyes until her breathing slowed.


	12. Chapter 12

Ra'kesh fell asleep easily but his rest was frequently disturbed by unpleasant dreams.

 

He saw himself, emaciated and dirty, carrying an ornately carved ivory lockbox studded with gold through an endless misty alley littered with garbage.  Rats and giant cockroaches skittered into the shadows as he passed, scurrying over groaning drunks and trembling addicts and bodies who may have been dead.  He felt a thirst, a burning, incessant thirst that never ceased.  He had to open that box!

 

Ra'kesh kneeled in a relatively clear area on top of the refuse, tongue drooling out of his mouth in anticipation of what was to come.  The box had no seam nor keyhole.  He turned it in his bony hands and found no opening.  In anger he dashed it against the ground.  A snap echoed down the hall and the lid flew away in a burst of supernatural light.  Frothy blood bubbled up from the broken box, pouring onto the ground and dousing his pants.  A strange white, veiny sphere bobbed on top of the blood.  Ra'kesh poked the object with a finger, causing it to turn in the liquid on which it floated.

 

It was a golden-irised eye.

 

Ra'kesh woke with a short yelp.  He was on his back, panting.  Kala was still a solid warmth beside him.  The shadows in the room had grown longer; it was late afternoon.

 

It had been a long day and a half.  Kala had fallen asleep almost at once, Ra'kesh a solid warmth at her back.  She chased him through falling snow in her dreams, trying to put a coat on him, but he kept moving out of reach, saying something she could not understand.  Then the snow turned to ashes, gray and hot on her face, and as she caught up to the shadowy figure in front of her he turned to reveal her grandfather, hammer on his shoulder, iron breastplate full of arrows.

 

“You must have no fear,” he told her.  “Death comes to us all, but fear will take from you everything that you desire while you yet live.”

 

“I have to find Ra'kesh,” she said.

 

Grandfather pointed into the ashes to his left.  Kala ran past him, hand raised to cast whatever spell was needed, and then she heard a yelp and her eyes snapped open on a room in her parents' house.  She sat up, looking around frantically.  The Khajiit lay on his back beside her, breathing hard.  She leaned over to gently run her hand over his mane.  The white eye stared blind at the ceiling above them.

 

“It's all right,” she said softly.  “It was just a bad dream.”

 

“If only it was,” Ra'kesh said sadly, shielding the eye from her with his hand.  He reached over with the other to retrieve the bandanna from the table and scooted into a sitting position while he put it on.  He patted her arm and flashed a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

 

“Sorry, that was dramatic.  He is fine.  Did you sleep well before Ra'kesh woke you?” He slid from bed and started dressing, embarrassed to have cried out like a kitten in his sleep.  He needed to get up and move, not lay there.

 

“Yes, I slept fine,” she said.  She felt much better, still a little sore but stronger, refreshed.  She got up to dress as well, yawning.  It was easier than yesterday.  Her left wrist was almost normal again.  “I understand if you feel self-conscious, but you don't have to hide that eye from me.  I love you.  It doesn't bother me at all.” Her tone was firm and definite.  Nothing would ever be as bad as the moment that she had heard him lose it.  Seeing it was a reminder that they were both alive, that he had survived despite everything.

 

“And I'm sorry if I said something stupid before we went to sleep,” she added, taking up the potion belt to buckle it on over her robe.  She probably didn't need it here.  There were five men in adamantine patrolling the grounds all of the time, the walks were graveled, and the wall was high.  She still felt uncomfortable leaving it behind.

 

\---

 

Loriand had spent a tremendously enjoyable afternoon.  He had met a number of men who had been gruff and wary of him at first, until he was asked to do some weapons tests.  After that everyone was much more friendly.  Most of them had more scars than he did, and that was a gap between them wider than his looks; the Dunmer who had been an Ordinator was a very handsome man, dark and stern, but his hands were permanently marked with the patterns of his gauntlets.  Loriand listened hungrily to everything the armsmen said.  At one point he was told that he was not very stuck-up for an Altmer.  Sarge glared the man down.  He followed the old Orc back to the house happier than he had been since before Veridael's death.

 

\---

 

Some way to the East, in a tower on a small island, Jaffan Zael sat behind a desk.  The uppermost chamber was lined with shelves and equipment, and a rack of daedric weapons hung on one wall.  Excepting the dagger, Zael could not lift a single one without potions.  They were there as a mark of status.  Zael wore elaborate layered robes, blue velvet embroidered with silver and gemmed with onyxes.  His face was youthful, belying an age past the life expectancy of most Dunmer, innocent of tattoos or tribal marks; the house of Telvanni did not favor such things.  On a table nearby, a table built specifically to hold it, stood a Dwemer calcinator in perfect condition, the words around the base completely legible.

 

Now he sat with steepled fingers, looking across the polished wood surface at another Dunmer in gray silks.  The other mer wore a hood, and a cloth covered the lower portion of his face.  He always wore his work clothes when he came to speak with Zael.  Probably he felt safer.  The criminal classes were often superstitious, clinging to their peculiar routines.

 

“Gone where, Helat?” he asked when he felt he had let the pause stretch long enough.  He was sure it was not the man's name.  That was accepted in these circumstances.

 

“To Suran,” said Helat.  His voice was gruff, not particularly distinctive, much like many other Dunmer.  “They set out on foot after they left the silt strider.  No one knew where, but there is an estate called Nend Plantation some miles outside the city.  Some Orcs keep a constant surname in the Imperial style, and gra-Nend is her surname.”

 

“From the fact that you are not reporting their deaths and the retrieval of the journal, I gather that you were not able to enter the estate,” Zael said.

 

The mer in gray shook his head.  “I could get over the wall, but the guards patrol closely, and they wear adamantine.  I would not be able to kill even one quickly or quietly.  There is one gate.  I believe the journal has been destroyed in any case, Serjo - ”

 

“Have you seen its ashes?” Zael asked gently.

 

“No,” said Helat.  “I could get inside the house in Balmora eventually, but not without being seen, even hidden by chameleon enchantments.”

 

“Then I do not consider that it has been destroyed.  Still.” Zael stood, leaning his hands on the desk.  “We must be cautious.  They cannot stay inside the estate forever, and if the journal is destroyed, I need Kala gra-Nend and the  _ ch'hatan _ alive.”

 

“The Khajiit?” said Helat.

 

Zael made a dismissive gesture.  “Kill him, or frighten him off.  He is no threat.  And now we will discuss the matter of your ongoing retainer.”

 

“I ask for no - ” Helat was interrupted by the ribbon of red light that darted from Zael's outstretched hand to the center of his body.  He grunted as he sank to one knee, clutching at his chest.  Zael had calculated very well what it would take to hurt the mer but not kill him; he let go the spell a few seconds before it would become fatal.  Helat never made a sound.  Zael was always mildly impressed by that.

 

He walked past the gasping mer to call down the shaft to the next level.  “Belzharra! Heal Helat and give him ten thousand drakes for expenses.”

 

“Yes, Master Zael,” said the Khajiit's cheerful voice from below.  Zael brushed Helat's head with his hand, casting a spell that would slow his descent, then turned to shove him down the shaft with his foot.  It was hard to find good help.  Harder still to find good help with Helat's tolerance for his little eccentricities.

 

\---

 

“No, nothing stupid,” Ra'kesh said with amusement, touching her hips from behind.  He ducked his head to kiss Kala on the cheek, then went over to his bag to pull out the grooming kit and run a quick comb through his mane in front of the mirror.  He would look more dignified with a real eyepatch, Ra'kesh thought, rather than an uneven strip of cloth, but he was presentable.

 

He considered what she had said.  Ra'kesh felt a strange swelling in his heart; knowing such love was a heady experience.  He still needed time to adjust to his own face, but he resolved not to hide it from her again.

 

“Let's find your parents,” he said, putting away the comb in the nightstand drawer.

 

 

  
  


Kala smiled back, relieved.  She did not completely remember everything she had said, and she felt that some of it had been paranoid, hysterical babble.

 

As she stepped out onto the upper landing she hailed a servant, a slender Dunmer with a sleek head of dark hair and a scar across his chin.  He walked like a dancer, but given her father's other domestics she suspected he was a swordsman.  He wore the same black tunic and white gloves as the butler who had opened the door.

 

“Excuse me.  Do you know where Serjo and Sera gra-Nend are at the moment?”

 

“I believe Sera gra-Nend is in the library,” he said.  “Serjo gra-Nend and Serjo Loriand have just come in from the training yard.  I believe they are still refreshing themselves.”

 

Meaning they were each having a bath, probably.  “Thank you – what's your name, Serjo?”

 

“Corp – ahem.  Armsman Delga, Sera.”

 

Kala grinned at him.  “Thank you, Armsman Delga.” She turned toward the stairhead as the man bowed and went on his way.  She said to Ra'kesh,

 

“The library is downstairs.  My parents aren't great readers, but they always encouraged us to be.  Father complained for years that if they hadn't, maybe I would have gone into the Legion or become a smith instead of a mage.  I found a grimoire they had bought at a discount when I was ten.  Learned my first spell the slow way.  I still know it, it's the light spell I use sometimes.”

 

Ra'kesh was impressed and it showed on his face.  Teaching himself magic from a book was certainly not the kind of thing he had been doing at ten years of age.

 

“How hard is it to learn magic the first time?” Ra'kesh asked as they walked downstairs.  Especially so late in life and being illiterate was the unspoken addendum.  He wasn't sure how long they'd be staying, but maybe it would give him time to start learning those skills.

 

“I had to start from scratch on how to sense magicka and how to channel it,” she said.  “You've already used enchanted objects, so you have a start.  The first time you learn one the fast way it's probably going to feel wrong even if it's a low-level spell.  You'll have to fight through it the first few times, and the casting will fail a lot until you're used to it.” Her voice was apologetic.  “I don't think you can learn the slow way without being able to read.  But the good news is, you'll learn it right away.  It's casting it reliably that will take a lot of practice.”

 

She turned right to route them around the staircase and off to the left, to a set of double doors with the rug worn thin in front of them.

 

“I would have the first one be healing, or unlock, or light – don't start with a destruction spell.  Those hurt.” And that was a drastic understatement for the more powerful versions; but he probably remembered what that had done to her each time.  She hauled the library door open, pushing it wide to accommodate them both, and went inside.  The smell of binding, glue and paper washed over them, a scent distinctive to libraries everywhere.

 

It wasn't a big library as great houses went; it was only a single story high, and only a short ladder on wheels was there for reaching the top shelves.  It had grown smaller as Kala had aged.  When she was a girl, when the estate was first built, it had seemed magical, the biggest room in the world.

 

There was a table near the back of the room, and deep, cushy netch leather armchairs were scattered about.  Zulee sat in one, feet up on a hassock, reading a volume of  _ The Real Berenziah,  _ that scandalous and incredibly popular biography.

 

She laid it on a small table as she heard the door open, then heaved herself up out of the chair with a cheery wave.  “Hello, my dears.  Do you feel better?”

 

“Much better, thank you,” Ra'kesh said.  He looked around the room with curiosity, hands clasped behind his back.  If he were going to learn to read, this would be the place to do it.  He remained standing because Zulee was.  “Did we miss anything while asleep?”

 

Kala was still nodding as Zulee said, “Not a thing.  I've been out to the smithy to check on Zel and Kord, but all's well.  We've had two commissions for ebony plate this week, so they're having a competition to see whose comes out looking better.  Dra'viji will be up to the main house for dinner tonight, I think.  She wants to see you.” She came over to pat Kala on the back.  “I don't know how many more winters she'll be with us, so I don't want you to miss it.”

 

“No, no, of course not,” Kala said.

 

The evening was less surreal than the morning had been, but it still felt strange.  Dra'viji was an ancient gray tabby with a white muzzle and a whiter mane, limping along with a cane carved elaborately from a very thin stalk of ebony.  She had maybe two teeth left and half of one of her ears was long gone, lost to an accident in the forge when she was a younger woman.  She cheerfully said things to Ra'kesh that Kala did not understand but that she gathered were salacious.

 

Bulg told them about Loriand's day in what were, for him, terms of high approbation.  Apparently the Altmer was able to put out a candle with his spear without knocking it over and perform a couple of other weapon feats whose full import was lost on Kala.

 

Dinner was lavish.  The kitchen staff had outdone themselves on remarkably short notice, for Kala knew that the family did not normally feast in this way every night; Kord and Zel confirmed it, laughingly forbidding the children from overeating.  This instruction was superfluous; the two little boys were five and seven years old, and they frequently got up from table to crawl around under it or run around it, until their mother corralled them back to their plates.  The table groaned under the weight of half a roast nix-hound, a pile of poached kwama eggs, fluffy bread rolls, three kinds of scuttle, and vegetables and condiments in proportion.  Dessert was a magnificent comberry jelly served over slices of cake.  Everyone applauded as it wobbled its way in on the trolley.  It was molded in three receding tiers.

 

Kord was some twelve years older than Kala, already starting to take on the general barrel shape of his father.  Zel was a younger and slimmer man who came to the table in his leather apron until Zulee good-naturedly scolded him into leaving it in the kitchen.  Both had the spotted scars on their arms left by many years of jumping sparks, just like their father.  Neither had the dotted facial scars.

 

Ra'kesh found himself overwhelmed at times during their feast.  It had been a lifetime since he had been in the presence of a family, and even back then it was just his parents and sisters, not wives, servants, and children.  The playful teasing and shared jokes between them was enviable.  He wondered why Kala would choose to live apart; probably because Suran had no Mages Guild, and she wanted to make her fortune in her own way.  That was understandable, but Ra'kesh would take the family any day.

 

It had been a good seven years since Ra'kesh spoke more than a few words or phrases of Ta'agra with anyone else.  It was a joy to hear his mother tongue again, especially from a sassy old lady like Dra'viji.  He tried to keep to Common for Kala's sake, but couldn't help replying in Ta'agra a few times with jokes or idioms that would only make sense to native speakers.

 

They treated Ra'kesh politely, but with evident curiosity, in much the way one would treat any stranger at the table.  At the end of the night Zel took him aside and gruffly offered to rivet him a leather eye patch.  “A man shouldn't ought to wear part of a shirt over his face all the time.”

 

Ra'kesh was touched by Zel's offer.

 

“This happened just recently.  Ra'kesh has not had time to find a real eye patch,” he explained sheepishly, fingering the cloth.  He recalled that the shirt had belonged to one of Kala's brothers, but he didn't remember which.  He hoped Zel didn't somehow recognize it.  “This one would appreciate such a thing very much.  Thank you.”

 

They stayed up quite late, moving off to a sitting room after the meal.  Ra'kesh was so packed with food he could hardly move.  After the children had been ushered off to bed, Ra'kesh and Kala regaled her family with the tales of their first bandit encounter and their brush with a daedra.  Kala was mortified when Ra'kesh performed a dramatic impression of himself in the throes of poison, but he just laughed and patted her back.

 

It was the most fun Ra'kesh had had in ages.  Even Loriand seemed to enjoy himself, which Ra'kesh was thankful for.  Perhaps the  _ ch'hatan  _ had found the place he belonged.

 

They retired to the guest room exhausted and in good cheer.  They chatted quietly, face to face in the bed, going over the events of the day, making plans for tomorrow, and explaining certain inside jokes that had been said at the table.  Ra'kesh fell asleep purring with his most favorite person on Nirn and the next world in his arms.

 

The following days were uneventful, but a welcome break from the worries they left in Balmora.  Ra'kesh ardently approved of his new eye patch, saying it added to his roguish charm.  When he told Kala he'd be back to his old self after moping a bit, it was the truth.  Being blind in one eye was inconvenient at times, but Ra'kesh was becoming more comfortable with his situation and no longer hid the eye from Kala.  He even grinned obligingly and flipped up the patch when Kord's sons asked to see it.  They thought it was neat.

 

Zel was proud of his work, grinning at Ra'kesh over breakfast.  Dra'viji had so far exerted herself as to get all the way back over to the main house for breakfast; she spent most of her time in her own little house near the forges, where it naturally maintained a temperature uncomfortably warm for anyone but an elderly Khajiit born in Elsweyr.  There she could watch the work out her windows and be entertained all day long by the apprentices.

 

“Should ask brothers to forge Khajiit a chastity belt,” she cackled over breakfast, waving a netch sausage at them on the end of a fork.  “Not safe to let him walk around loose like that!”

 

Kala covered her face with one hand, laughing.

 

Seeing Ra'kesh teasing the little boys and showing them his eye tweaked some quality she had been unaware she possessed, and suddenly she wondered if it really was possible to… Well, in the end she slipped over to Dra'viji's house while Ra'kesh was being shown the forges, that organized and colorful Oblivion of fire and metal.

 

“Old mother, you must tell me honestly if you know,” she said, as they sat on the bench by Dra'viji's little work-table.  “Can an Orc and a Khajiit bear children?”

 

“Ha, Dra'viji wondered if Kala would be asking,” said the old Khajiit, nudging Kala with her elbow.  “But Dra'viji does not know.  She has heard that it is possible if they are conceived when Jode and Jone are both new, and the act is performed in a daedric ruin, but she has not known anybody with little half-Orc half-Cathays.”

 

“Seriously? In a daedric ruin,” Kala said.  “How many people have survived trying that?”

 

“Not many, Dra'viji thinks,” said the old Khajiit, flicking an ear and jangling all her little gold rings.

 

“But anyway, I don't need to start making cheat-grass potions,” Kala sighed.

 

“No, little Kala, no.  If it is possible, it certainly is not common.  Let them enjoy their time together as a gift of Dibella, and perhaps one day Mara will bless them.” She patted Kala again.

 

“Does the Khajiiti pantheon have a Dibella?” she asked.  She knew that the name of Mara was the same in both Imperial and Khajiit tradition, even if one depicted her as basically human and the other as basically Khajiit.

 

“No, my child, she has grown heretical in her own age through long association with Kala's parents.  Now give her a kiss and run and play with your friends, Dra'viji needs a nap.”

 

Kala laughed, kissed the old Khajiit on the side of her muzzle, and went to see what the others were doing.

 

She was pleased to see that Ra'kesh seemed to really be recovering, not just trying to hide his torment from her.  At least this was a good place to heal.  Neither her parents nor their armsmen were the sort of people to consider the loss of an eye a real disfigurement.  She was half-convinced that her father would sign Loriand on as a guard, though he had no military history as the others had; she had seen one of the apprentices measuring him while they were at the forge, the young Orc thumping him companionably on the back as they talked, and the armsmen she saw him with seemed to like him well enough.  He was very strong and fast and very respectful, and those were good qualities in the new man.

 

After a couple of days she became quieter again as her thoughts turned toward Drakan-Ka.  No one had tried to sneak into the estate.  She had inquired particularly; but one of the guards had seen Dunmer standing across the road watching.  He was not sure if it was the same Dunmer each time, they were dressed differently.  They vanished both times that a guard ventured outside the gate to inquire.

 

Ra'kesh was greatly troubled when Kala informed him of the Dunmer the guards had seen.  Reality was trickling into the carefree little dreamworld they now occupied and must be confronted.

 

“The Dunmer could be one who is after Loriand, or he could be another hired man after Ra'kesh,” he said with a heavy sigh.  They were presently in the library, having just concluded a short reading session.  Ra'kesh had been working on it with Kala's help a little each day and had recently leaped from the alphabet to sounding out short words.

 

The boys had been particularly eager to help, teaching Ra'kesh an alphabet song and giving him several pointers about tricky letter combinations that didn't sound the way one would expect.  Most of that went over his head, but the song was a helpful mnemonic.

 

“Will Kala tell her parents about Loriand's danger?” Ra'kesh asked.  “He cannot imagine a lone Dunmer posing any threat to anyone here, but..  they have taken a liking to Loriand, and this one expects he will be asked to stay.  It does not seem right to hide it, although perhaps we should say Loriand knows some information this mer is after and withhold the rest of the story.”

 

Kala got up to pace behind the small table where they had been reading.

 

“But Esmera is dead,” she said.  “Augustus is dead.  Who else is after you? I think Fahrazadi really was just hired magic.”  _ And we're very lucky she was, because otherwise I probably could not have fought her off by myself at that point.   _ She rubbed the broad bridge of her nose.  “I agree that they need to know something.  Not the full story, perhaps.  Your suggestion has merit.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Tell me the full story,” Bulg was saying.  He stood in his study near the window.  It was big, square, full four panes of glass, like an Imperial window, and it commanded an excellent view over the wall and toward the distant river.

 

Loriand quivered, standing at parade rest on the carpet behind him.  A muscle jumped in his angular jaw.  Bulg turned to look at him, yellow eyes narrow.

 

“What are you afraid of, son?”

 

“I am not afraid, Sarge.  I am attempting to resolve conflicting orders.” His voice was strained.

 

“Ah.  You've been told not to tell me.  By Kala and Ra'kesh or by someone else?”

 

“Veridael said I should never tell anyone,” Loriand said quietly.

 

“Veridael is your dead relation?”

 

“Yes, Sarge,” said Loriand.

 

“Mm.  Well, son, we find ourselves in a bit of a difficulty.  I understand your problem, but it appears that your reticence may put my family in danger if people are watching the estate.”

 

“I do not actually know why they are watching the estate,” Loriand said.  “I only know that the man in gray killed Veridael.  I think it is likely that it has to do with the thing I'm not supposed to discuss, because what else could it be? I am only ten y - ” He stopped, stiffening in pain as he shut his eyes.  His head throbbed dizzyingly, little bursts of light hitting the corners of his vision like fireworks.

 

Bulg frowned up at the Altmer.  “You can't be ten years old.  You're a grown man.”

 

“Nngh,” Loriand said, a strangled noise in his throat.

 

“Sit down.” Bulg hauled a chair around behind the Altmer.  He sank into it, resting his face in his hands.  “And calm down, Loriand.  Nobody's angry with you.”

 

Loriand nodded miserably, trying to control the harsh sound of his own breathing.  He shuddered.

 

“I'll just ask them about it and they can tell me or not tell me as they choose.  I assume they do know?”

 

The big Altmer nodded again.

 

“Right.” Bulg limped over to the door and opened it.  “Armsman Delga, Loriand is not feeling well.  Get him a small brandy and a glass of water and wait with him 'til he's better.”

 

The Dunmer slid inside and went to the small liquor cabinet as Bulg stepped out into the hallway and marched down to the library, frowning heavily.  He pushed the door open to see both of them standing by the work-table, talking.

 

“All right, you two,” he said.  “Why's someone watching the estate, and what's it got to do with Loriand? Poor mer can't tell me.  Looks quite ill.”

 

“Kala is probably right, but Esmera most likely told others that it was Ra'kesh and an Argonian who attacked her, so all of them know Ra'kesh is somehow connected to Augustus's assassin.  Possibly there is no one left to care, if they are too busy splitting up his wealth - ” Ra'kesh was saying when Bulg interrupted.  The Khajiit exchanged a nervous glance with Kala, ears splayed to the side.

 

“His relative was murdered,” Ra'kesh said slowly.  “We do not know exactly what they would want with Loriand, but it is probably that someone thinks Loriand was privy to sensitive information.  We were about to tell you.”

 

Kala nodded agreement with Ra'kesh.  “I know this information, and I could explain it, but it wouldn't help.  At some point we will have to go and take care of it.  That on top of what just happened was just… overwhelming and we needed a few days to recuperate.”

 

“But if you go and Loriand stays here, they'll still be after him,” said Bulg.  “Is that right?”

 

“I hope that we two can stop it,” Kala said calmly.  She half-believed they would.  “And I think it is likely that they will follow us away from the estate.  But I cannot guarantee that.”

 

“This is not a matter for the law?” Bulg said, looking from one to the other of them with one eyebrow raised.

 

“Matters would be infinitely worse if we involved the law,” Ra'kesh said grimly.  He realized that it was a lot to ask for Bulg to accept this assessment without knowing the details, but what could they do? As much as Ra'kesh liked and respected the man, he did not know Bulg well enough to predict how he would react if they told the truth.  As a patriotic ex-Legionnaire, Bulg may feel obligated to report the information to the Empire.  Or he might confide in one of his armsmen who turned out to be less scrupulous.  Ra'kesh wished that he could have discussed this with Kala in more depth before they were confronted.

 

“Ra'kesh willingly told Bulg details of his own shameful past,” Ra'kesh continued.  “Please believe, he and Kala only withhold information now because there is more at stake than their own petty lives.”

 

“You did that,” Bulg agreed slowly.

 

“There are things no one is meant to know,” Kala said.

 

Bulg snorted.  “Ah.  Mage matters.” He sighed, looking from one to the other of them.  “All right.  When must you go?”

 

“Tomorrow, in daylight,” Kala said, glancing at Ra'kesh to see if he agreed.  “Whoever is watching, they will not act in plain view of the gates.”

 

Ra'kesh nodded back to Kala.

 

“Perhaps Kala should cast her mark here, just for now.” He was sure Bulg would be eager to know if his daughter survived the trip straight away, and it would save them another five mile trek.  “And prepare many life detects.  We must know when we are followed.”

 

They spent the rest of the day in preparation for the journey, Ra'kesh with a heavy heart.  He was not eager to walk into certain danger so soon after escaping it and put Kala at risk again, but leaving the machine intact was their own mistake that must be righted.  They would leave at noon tomorrow.

 

Kala explained the situation as best she could to her mother, and talked with both her parents about where best to put the mark – given that they might be arriving bloody and battered, she did not want it to be somewhere that they might run into Kord's children or the children of the field workers.  Her mother laughed at that idea.

 

“Girl, these children have seen accidents in the forge, the fights the young men have for fun, and the attack on the estate we had last year.  They will not be forever scarred by seeing two injured people appear in the house.  Set your mark to the left of the front doors inside, off the rug.  That way it will be easy to clean and you won't accidentally land on someone.”

 

“Yes, Mama – wait, who attacked the estate?” Kala asked, blinking.

 

“A lot of Dunmer bravos in cheap light armor, stinking like sujamma and moon sugar.  Your father and I always thought they were from the Dren estate down the way, but we never proved it.  The survivor wouldn't talk.  Certainly they weren't Dren family, for nobody ever asked after them.  They came over the wall with grappling hooks and flaming bottles of mazte, made a dreadful row on the gravel, and most of them were dead in less than a minute.  Your father's armsmen aren't just for show,” she said with satisfaction.

 

So Kala set her mark in the front vestibule, collected up some ampoule pods and scraps of alit hide, and unpacked her small set of travel alchemy equipment from the knapsack to make more detection potions.  Their range was a little better than her last batch.  Every batch got a little better.

 

She explained to Loriand that they were leaving.  “I will not stop you from coming with us, but I think it is probably better that you stay here, with my parents.  I give you no orders.  This is a decision you must make.”

 

He nodded seriously, and to her surprise, reached out to touch her shoulder with one big golden hand.  “Thank you, Sera Kala.  I would like to stay.  This is a wonderful place.”

 

She grinned up at him, relieved.  “Yes it is.  I think you will be happy here.”

 

That lightened the load a bit as she packed up the next morning after breakfast – she had to restrain herself from eating as much as she wished, lest she be heavy and stupid on the journey – strapped the extra food bag on top of the knapsack, because of course her Mother had insisted they take extra waybread, jerky, and carrots, and went to the gate with Ra'kesh and her parents.  The armsman hauled it open, everyone bowed to everyone, and they started back down the road toward Suran.  Kala did not look back, though her heart was heavy.

 

“We can take the Strider to Molag Mar, get a boat to Tel Branora, and then it's another long boat ride to Dagon Fel,” she said to Ra'kesh.  “Or we could go by strider to Vivec or Balmora, take the guild guide to Sadrith Mora, and then go by boat from there.  The guild guides cut off probably two days' sailing, but then we have to risk being seen in one of the big cities.  What do you say?”

 

Ra'kesh considered the options.  It seemed impossible to be followed after using the guild guide, but the mer in gray had done so, somehow.  Vivec and Balmora were both busy cities and the routes from the strider to the guilds were heavily populated areas in each, meaning they would be easy to tail but hard to attack.  If the Dunmer was seeking the location of Drakan-Ka, it would make sense to confront them after Ra'kesh and Kala led him there.

 

Ra'kesh thought they could lose the Dunmer if they really wanted to- by teleporting to a few random places and taking boats out of their way before doubling back- but perhaps a controlled confrontation was better.  The man needed to be gotten rid of.

 

In the end Ra'kesh suggested they go to Vivec, since it was the shortest path and the Dunmer was presumably already following them.  It was a quick ride by strider, taking just a couple hours and leaving them with plenty of daylight.  They could see the Nend plantation in the distance as the strider passed through the grassy fields of the Ascadian Isles.  Ra'kesh hoped Loriand and everyone else was well.

 

Kala turned her eyes longingly toward the plantation in the distance, holding to one of the posts of the strider.  She devoutly hoped they were followed, and that whoever it was had limited enough resources not to attack the plantation while they were gone.  Now that she was away, and able to think past the assumption of her parents' invincibility natural to their child, it occurred to her that a powerful mage or someone with expensive enough potions could levitate over without making a noise on the gravel.

 

_ The man in gray was not much of a mage, or he would have tried something besides running away when he saw Loriand,  _ she told herself.  It was cold comfort, but it was all she could muster at the moment.  Hopefully the armsman in the watchtower would notice anyone hovering high enough to get over the wall.

 

In Vivec they went from the strider to a boat to have the gondolier row them over the Foreign Quarter, where the Mages Guild was.  The city loomed out of the fog around them, cantons so vast that they were visible only as a wall beginning far above the water, their gray outflows large as any waterfall Kala had ever seen.  They thundered so loudly that conversation was impossible.  One could always tell when they passed the Arena.  Some of the water flowed red.

 

She did not know the guild in Vivec as well, and there were many people present who were unfamiliar.  Kala could not help wondering which of them might be an enemy.  There were at least four male Dunmer whom she had never seen.  The guild guide seemed polite enough as they paid for their trip to Wolverine Hall and teleported out, knapsacks on their backs.  Then it was just a matter of chartering a boat for Dagon Fel again.  They were not able to find the people whose boat they had used before.  Apparently they were on a supply run to Ebonheart.

 

In the end, they had to charter a ship to Dagon Fel.  Otherwise it would be three weeks before the next ship for the little village was scheduled to depart.

 

A dockyard official directed them to Captain Gilan Rinith of the Yeherradad, who offered to transport them for a mere 100 gold - which, he explained, was a very generous price.  Rinith was a serious Dunmer who always paused before speaking in a low, gravelly voice and did not seem very interested in anything besides his pay.  He acted mildly irritated every time Ra'kesh or Kala spoke to him and gruffly informed them that they could rent a hammock and pay for their meals at cost.

 

There were two other Dunmer crewmen, both males, but they never gave their names or bothered to speak to Ra'kesh.  One was a tall mer with a shaved head and the other was a thicker, wide-faced mer who wore his hair in a top knot.  Rinith himself had a long goatee, a very severe widow's peak and a wild black mane, oily and frayed at the ends.  All of them dressed modestly, in plain linen that was either weakly dyed or not at all, including the captain.  And they all smelled strongly of flin.

 

An hour after setting out, Sadrith Mora was growing distant on the horizon.  No one had offered to secure their bags, so Ra'kesh kept his beside himself as they stood on the deck.  In all honesty he didn't trust the crew enough to leave the bag out of his sight anyway.

 

“Should we spend a life detect to see if there are stowaways?” he asked Kala.  None of the crew were presently in earshot.

 

Kala glanced around warily to make sure none of the flin-soaked lowlifes who ran the charter ship might hear them.  She was not thrilled with their accommodations, but their options had been limited, and time was of the essence.  Her knapsack was propped against one leg.

 

“I pity the desperate soul who stows away here, even if it  _ is  _ the man in gray,” she murmured back.  “But it's not a bad precaution.” She downed a purple dot potion from her belt and looked around slowly.  “Three mer-sized signatures, you, and some tiny things that I strongly suspect are a half-dozen rats,” she reported.

 

\---

 

Helat had slept very little in the last week, between watching the estate and traveling.  He had inquired politely of the destination of the silt strider they had taken, pretending he had missed his connection.  Then he had used a scroll to return to the Imperial shrine at Balmora,  _ run  _ up the road to town, and taken the guild guide to Vivec.  There he had taken time to eat and clean up as he waited for them, loitering about the guild hall.  He blended in reasonably well in his brown robe, and if asked questions, he could discourse at an apprentice level on the subject of a couple of spell schools.  He was no mage, except for a limited facility with enchantment.  He had begun researching them when Jaffan Zael started using them on him.

 

He was out in the hall as he heard the Orc tell the guide they were going to Sadrith Mora.  He gave them fifteen minutes to clear the guild hall before he followed.  He knew they were going to the docks.  It wasn't that hard to pick up their trail again there; an Orc and a Khajiit traveling together stuck out in Telvanni territory.  He had only to slip a crewman a few drakes to learn their destination.  Then it was a matter of showing Zael's seal to the captain of another, faster ship, and getting as much sleep as he could on the voyage to Dagon Fel.

 

\--

 

It was a long and boring trip with no cheerful conversation or music to bide the time.  At least Ra'kesh could sleep easy knowing it was impossible for anyone to enter the ship from the open sea.  Or as easy as he could sleep with tiny claws skittering back and forth.  Ra'kesh and Kala were below deck with their bedrolls laid out next to empty hammocks, and the sounds came from the locked storage hold just next door.  Ra'kesh was probably the only one who could hear it.  The sailors stayed up late drinking, and when they finally came down to bed, one of them had a horrendous snore.

 

“Living so long on land has spoiled him,” he told Kala the next day.  “There was a time when he could easily sleep through all of that.”

 

They might have started out laying out the bedrolls next to each other, but the further they got from Nend plantation, the more old anxieties returned; Kala woke up with her head pillowed on Ra'kesh's chest, one arm flung over his body.  Lacking Ra'kesh's keen hearing, she slept through it all.  Next day she patted him sympathetically at his complaint.  Bags under the eyes or poor color did not show in the same way on a Khajiit, but the rims of his eyes looked redder.  Or maybe that was her worried imagination.  She was glad to hoist her pack and get off the boat, away from the smells and sounds, but she still had to scurry to catch up to Ra'kesh, who was talking to a Nord.

 

He didn't know whether to be relieved or anxious to see Dagon Fel looming out of the mist, but Ra'kesh was all too happy to disembark.  On shore, he approached the first person he saw- a broad-faced Nord with blonde hair pulled back and a crude raven's head tattooed on his neck.

 

“Pardon Serjo, but have any boats docked recently?” he asked.

 

“Aye, that they have,” the man said.  “Telvanni craft fra' Sadrith Mora, there.” He pointed to a slender and well-kept vessel a couple of berths down.  “Are ye meeting a friend, like?”

 

“Could be,” Kala said as she came up to them.  “Dunmer, about yea tall, black hair?”

 

“That's nigh on half of all Dunmer, Sera, but aye, one such came ashore.”

 

“Thank you,” she said politely, and hurried toward the town and the East gate.  When they were out of earshot she said to Ra'kesh, “Well, now we know why he didn't try to attack us in the towns.”

 

Helat, lurking against the wall of the End of the World in traveling leathers and a Netch pauldron, could not believe his luck.  He grinned to himself beneath his gray silk hood as he loosened his daggers in their sheaths.  If they led him all the way to the ruin he would assure his worth to Zael for at least the length of another journey and back.  He had saved and cached most of everything he had ever been paid, because the Telvanni kept giving him bonuses to try to retain him after the physical torments that he seemed to find so necessary to their business relationship.

 

Every payment Helat told himself that he would take it all, get on a boat to Cyrodiil, and never see the poisonous fetcher again.  Every payment he stayed on, waiting for just a little more.  He had lied, cheated, committed murder more than once (although smothering a sick Altmer in his bed was definitely the worst), even seduced to get what Zael wanted.  He had suffered the draining of his life five times, electrocution twice, been burned and frozen, though never enough to scar.  Now he had two hundred thousand drakes hidden in the wall of an apartment in Molag Mar behind a cunningly wrought panel, waiting for the day when his will to escape outstripped his desire for more gold.

 

He must be cautious.  He did not share Zael's low assessment of the Khajiit as a threat.  He had been watching them, and Ra'kesh's movements did not fill him with confidence.

 

\---

 

“Now we have nothing to worry about until we arrive,” Ra’kesh said.  They had plenty of time to think of a plan as they walked.  The best one Ra'kesh could come up with was a version of the spider ambush they had used before: set up camp with the deactivated spiders, pretend to go to bed after drinking life detect potions, and reactivate the spiders when the Dunmer came near.  With two against one, Ra'kesh found it unlikely the man would attack them outright.  He would wait for the perfect moment; it was better they give him one rather than wait for him to pick.

 

Of course, this was assuming the Dunmer would take the bait.  And assuming he didn't have any tricks up his sleeve that Ra'kesh could not account for.

 

Ra'kesh spoke quietly as they discussed the matter, always looking over his shoulder even though he was assured that they were alone.  He listened intently for any footsteps and found none.  The racers soaring in the distance were their only companions, their contemptible squawks echoing in the fog.

 

He felt a strange sense of deja vu walking this path.  Their first trip had been a defining moment in Ra'kesh's life.  It was the sole reason Kala had purchased him.  If not for that, Ra'kesh could not imagine what sort of life he would be leading now.  His hand found Kala's as they walked.  It was warm and right and he promised himself that she would survive this.

 

They were slowing down as the sky darkened, both tired from the long walk, although Ra'kesh was not nearly as done in as he had been the first time.

 

“How far away is that mine?” he asked.  He didn't remember the terrain well enough from only having seen it once.

 

Kala agreed to Ra'kesh's plan, thinking to herself that, while it was possible the man following them knew the old words himself, it was more likely he was a hired knife.  And if it came to a duel of Dwemer commands, she believed she would still compare favorably even with many scholars.

 

She smiled as Ra'kesh took her hand.  What a relief it was to walk this way again without the doubt and disgust of slavery lying between them.  Whatever happened next, it was worth it for that.

 

“I give it about a quarter-mile,” she said back, matching the softness of her voice to his.  The fog had come up as the sun began to sink, and it wrapped them in a chilly hush.  If they were followed, the enemy was very good at his work; sounds seemed strangely amplified through the mist.  “The clannfear will probably have phased back from Oblivion or the Pits by now.  I think it may give us less trouble this time.” Even here, there was a bit of a laugh in her voice, remembering how he had embarrassed her at table with his “glaargh” and contortions when he told that story.

 

And now she had the lightning, against which even the greater daedra were not supernaturally defended, though fire could do them little hurt.

 

It didn't take long for the little hollow to loom up on their right, with the decrepit wooden door still in place.

 

Some yards behind them, Helat had no trouble stalking their footsteps through the fog; the Khajiit was quieter than the Orc, his broad feet diffusing weight and leaving lighter prints, but he could have tracked Kala gra-Nend across a dry rock.  Here the Dunmer kept himself under chameleon with an amulet he had made himself, recharging it with a bag full of small soul gems.  Creating the thing to begin with had been difficult, but maintaining it was easy; anyone could buy a dozen gems and kill a dozen rats.  Enchanting each of his daggers had been harder, one with frost, one with shock, and they would expire quickly in an encounter of any length.  That was why he generally took care not to engage in any encounter he did not expect to end very quickly.

 

Ra'kesh felt strangely anxious wrenching open the stiff door, shuddering at the memory of the painful encounter.  The Khajiit would have never believed he'd be spending the night here a second time.

 

The air in the dark tunnel was as stale and dank as he remembered.  Their own scent lingered in the mine, along with the old trace of rats and daedra.  The crates they had used as a barricade stood pushed against the wall, undisturbed since that time.  Ra'kesh shrugged off his bag at the entrance and stood leaning against one of these crates, peering down the slope into the mine.  His ears strained for movement below.  There was a dull scuffing of claw against hard packed dirt floor.

 

“Kala was right, it is here,” he said, grinning at her.  Ra'kesh drew his sword and slapped the flat against a crate.  “Hey ugly!” A shrill screech echoed from the dark in response.

 

Kala moved up beside him, one hand raised.  She felt her stomach drop and twist as memory caught at her as well, but she was ready this time, and Ra'kesh was ready.  The creature would not take them by surprise.  The scraping of claws on stone accelerated until even she could hear it, and then the creature came barreling around the corner of the dark hall, eyes reflecting the dim light from the doorway behind them.

 

It checked suddenly, scrambling in its stride as it reared up to stare at them.

 

“Graaa?” it said.  It almost sounded outraged.

 

“I think it's definitely the same one,” Kala said as it lowered its head, clacking its beak.  Then it charged.

 

She raised her hand and let loose the lightning.

 

Ra'kesh blinked as the heat of the charged air blasted his face, the blinding flash lighting the tunnel for a split second.  The clannfear didn't have a chance of escape; it was a direct hit, and the daedra seized as it was electrocuted.  The high-pitched scream would ring in Ra'kesh's sensitive ears for minutes after it had ended.

 

As the crackles of light died away the clannfear smashed blindly into the crates in front of Ra'kesh, swinging its head and tail wildly.  Its eyes had cooked in their sockets.  Ra'kesh thrust his sword forward, piercing the clannfear through the side.  His roar mingled with the dying squeal of the daedra as he drove the blade deeper and the clannfear flopped limply against the splintered wood of the crates.  Then it was still, tongue lolling out of the open beak.

 

Ra'kesh yanked his sword away from the body, blood oozing after it.  Kala would have her daedra heart after all.

 

Kala blinked for a second at the corpse.  It had nearly run over her.  She kept forgetting how fast Ra'kesh was.


	14. Chapter 14

“Oh, well done,” she said, realization suddenly setting in, and fumbled for her belt knife as she squatted next to it to keep her knees out of the mess.  She rolled up her sleeves as her cheeks flamed dark green with excitement.  “I've never been able to make my own magicka restoratives! It's so hard to get any ingredient other than comberry.”

 

Getting the daedra's heart out was a messy business.  Her hands were red to the wrists by the time she was finished.  She hacked off the claws as well, and took the bloody artifacts to lay them out on a bit of crate in the room with the air shaft where they had made a fire last time.  She was tired, but not as she had been on their first trip; she had been vastly more active since she and the Khajiit had met.

 

“I'm for a wash.  Shall we take turns so we can keep an eye out? I can lock the front door, but it won't hold against anyone with any real spells.”

 

Ra'kesh watched her excited hacking with amusement after cleaning his sword with a rag from the supply room.  The coppery tang of blood filled the air.  To Ra'kesh, it was not unpleasant.

 

“At least it will buy a few extra seconds,” Ra'kesh said with a nod.  He was quite certain the man would not move against them tonight, but it would be stupid not to stay prepared.  “Ra'kesh does not need a bath, but he wants a life detect while you are down there.  Just in case there are other things in the mine.”

 

“Actually here, take four.  Let me know when you run out.  I made fifty while we were at the plantation, so there's plenty.” She turned to expose the potion belt, holding up her bloody hands, and gestured at where the purple dots were.  Not all of her potions fit into the belt now, several were packed into the knapsack.

 

When he had collected the vials she turned to head down the slope toward the lower cave.  It must be nice not to sweat.  On the other hand, she did not have to hang her mouth open if she got overheated, either.  So there were positives and negatives, she thought with amusement.

 

She did not spend a lot of time bathing, peering around warily at the echoing shadows.  The pool's natural outflow took the blood away quickly enough.  She rebraided her wet hair.  If she was going to live this sort of lifestyle she might have to think about cutting it shorter.  She resisted that; she knew Ra'kesh liked it, and it had always been one of the things that she felt was more attractive about her appearance, and an Orc had better take what she could get.

 

Ra'kesh busied himself with piling wood bits onto the old ashes of their fire while he watched the purple core of Kala's silhouette moving in the lake below.  He almost had a heart attack when the light blinked away.  After tripping over his own feet rushing to mouth of the slope, he realized that she had merely stepped out of range for a second and he could see the light again.  His body deflated as he breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against the wall.

 

He eventually moved back to carry their bags into the room and get out the waybread and jerky gifted to them by Zulee.  He sniffed at a carrot, one corner of his lip pulling up in mild revulsion, and left it in the bag.  Ra'kesh ate his meal leaning against the wall at the top of the slope where he could see Kala's signature.

 

She was back up in half an hour, clothes wet around the hems, damp hair braided tightly back.  She came up to find him still eating jerky and stopped to give him a hug on the way past.  “Oh yes, food.  Did you find the carrots to your liking?” she teased him as she laid out a bedroll, then rooted around in the knapsack for food.

 

She lit a fire in the pile of wood, using her sad little fire spell.  Then she settled in next to it to eat, patting the bedroll invitingly as she looked up at Ra'kesh.

 

“Last time I was here I thought secretly to myself how much I would like to curl up by the fire with a warm Khajiit,” she said.  “Still no sign of the one who follows?”

 

\---

 

Helat had made a very cold, very damp camp outside across the trail from the mine, hidden by a towering patch of kreshweed.  He had a blanket from his pack for warmth and a sack of potions of different sorts, including some commercial detections.  He expected it to be a long and fitful night.  There was always the chance they were waiting for him to go to sleep so they could sneak away or ambush him.

 

\---

 

“Mer and man call Khajiit betmer while they eat fodder for animals,” Ra'kesh said dryly, following her back into the room.  “Er, no offense.” He sat down next to her, thigh to thigh.  The red glow of the fire against the walls was comforting, but even more so was the body next to his.  She smelled of cave water.

 

“Kala felt this way even then?” he asked with some surprise.  Ra'kesh could not understand what, exactly, Kala had found attractive about the emaciated, ill-tempered wretch who was forever testing her limits.  Then he sniggered, recalling how Kala's wet robes had clung seductively to her body as they bathed.  “Khajiit had..  similar thoughts.  Mara herself would blush if the goddess could have read his mind.”

 

“In my secret heart,” Kala said, affectionately poking Ra'kesh in the arm with the stump of the carrot.  The two of them cast long shadows behind them on the wall as the firelight flickered gently, smoke spiraling up through the air shaft and out into the cold night.  “Especially after you threw yourself on a clannfear in front of me.  Orcs love a fighter.  And the  _ hezh _ takes a person's illusions.  I behaved differently toward you in that condition, and that made me think it through.”

 

And hadn't  _ that  _ been a surprise, she mused as she ate.  She had gathered him in her arms and let go only when she came back to her sanity.  That had happened twice, once in here, once on the roof of her house.  The second time she had already known, of course.  That had added a special misery when she could not believe her feelings could be returned.  Now she resisted the urge to rest her head on his arm, because her hair was still damp; she turned and lightly kissed the fur on his biceps instead.

 

Reality had been more complicated than his joke.  Ra'kesh had wanted to hate her for buying him, had wanted to hate her for stealing away “his” moon sugar and destroying it.  He wanted to hate her for dragging him away to the middle of nowhere while hunger clawed him from inside.  But the person he was supposed to hate had been nothing but kind, leaving him painfully conflicted.  Ra'kesh had been too filled with shame and confusion to think of romance then.

 

He chose a life as her slave of his own volition that night after the clannfear attack.  It was the hardest thing he had ever done, admitting to himself that he needed her and could not be trusted to take care of himself.  Now that he knew Kala even better than he had, Ra'kesh felt no more shame at that decision.  Kala was someone he could show weakness to, finally, without judgment.  She was the first.

 

He laid a hand on her thigh as she ate, watching her with soft eyes and ears pointed forward.  The sly grin from earlier had shrank to nearly nothing.

 

“There has been no movement from outside,” he said finally, shaking his head.  The question seemed to snap him out of his bittersweet musings.  “The man is very smart to stay out of range.”

 

She sighed as he reminded her of their situation, of death or capture stalking them through the fog.

 

“We can't always get the stupid ones, can we.”

 

Her kiss sent a warmth flooding through his core.  Ra'kesh put his arm around her, squeezing gently.

 

“Oh, we shall get him,” he said with a determined smile.  “He is a coward who smothers sick mer in their sleep.  This we will use against him.” Ra'kesh wasn't entirely certain of that, but he made sure to sound like he was.  They needed to sleep easy tonight and have their full strength for tomorrow.  “Now, Kala should sleep.  Ra'kesh will take first watch.” He reluctantly got up to line his bedroll against hers so that he could sit beside her while she slept.

 

His potion had not worn off yet.  Ra'kesh had no reason to think the man in gray would move against them tonight, but he would never let his guard down again after what had happened with Esmera.  A dizzying fear gripped him every time Kala was out of sight.  The walls seemed closer, it was a struggle to suck in air.  His heart would thud in his ears, the sound twisting to footsteps just behind him.  Even on the estate he had to force himself to appear calm the few times they were apart.  He knew she was safe but that anxiety wouldn't let him be.  Ra'kesh hated this weakness, hated knowing Esmera had taken much more than an eye that day.

 

“All right, my dear, but you have to wake me when it's time.  You won't help either of us by being tired tomorrow,” she said.  She took a drink from the water skin and lay down facing the fire, the warmth of flame in front, the warmth of flesh at her back.  She had noticed that he seemed different, and she knew it must be because of Esmera; but he had not yet shown her the same kind of anxiety she had felt just after their escape.  She was unaware of the desperation he had felt when she had moved out of detection.

 

Now she lay looking into the coals, listening to them crackle and hiss gently; and eventually she fell asleep, breathing growing more regular.  Once or twice she groaned in her sleep, shifting restlessly; but when she encountered Ra'kesh she settled again, murmuring.

 

\---

 

Helat dozed occasionally, curled up in his patch of kreshweed as he watched the mine.  He jerked awake every time the slightest breeze caused the ancient hinges to creak.  It was uncomfortable, but he was a patient mer.  It was nothing to the time he had had to stay underwater for a night, swallowing potion after potion to keep breathing, waiting at the bottom of a stream for an apprentice of one of Zael's rivals to come looking for draggle tails.  He had cut the elf's throat.  The sound he made had kept Helat awake briefly, but there was nothing as soothing as fifty thousand drakes.

 

\---

 

Ra'kesh did not bother with a second potion when his first one wore out.  He would easily hear if someone tried to enter.  He kept the fire fed, entranced by the flames with little else to occupy himself.  It was hard to tell how much time had passed without being able to see the sky, but after a while he gently shook her awake, murmuring softly.  Ra'kesh hated to do it.  She looked so serene when asleep, and she needed the rest, but he was dead tired and close to nodding off without being able to help it.

  
  


Ra'kesh took his shift curled against her and slept with ease.  He was too exhausted to be afraid, and did not dream.

 

Kala woke from dreamless darkness with Ra'kesh shaking her shoulder.  She sat up, squeezing his arm, and stretching out her legs and arms as he settled beside her.  She stroked his shoulder for a few moments as he fell asleep, watching his breathing become deeper.  It was different, seeing him asleep from this angle.  The last time she had really been awake while he was asleep had been his first night in her house, when she had given him her full bottle of fatigue drain to get him through the withdrawal symptoms.

 

What a different Khajiit he had become in so short a time! The fur around his eyes was smooth and complete, no longer patchy and discolored; in fact, all of the fur that was visible was thicker, covering all of him evenly with the lovely tan color that took on glints of gold in the firelight.  She resisted the urge to play with the black tips of his ears.  That would wake him up, and he needed his sleep, eyes shut tight above the smooth muzzle.

 

They had not made love since that first day.  Now that she knew physically what it was like, parts of her ached and twinged for lack of it.  Both of them had been exhausted, pulled taut after the kidnapping, and at the plantation they had needed the time to recuperate.  She could not see a safe time and place for it in the near future.  Kala sighed.   _ At least now you know there is something worth waiting for. _

 

She reached over him to get the potion belt and knapsack at one point, very slowly and carefully, not wishing to wake him; and then she made almost a game of refilling the belt without a single clink.  No one disturbed her weak spell-lock on the door of the mine, no creak of wood, no ominous footsteps.  Eventually thin light began to stream in through the air shaft above, and she knew that the sun was rising.

 

“It's morning, dear.  Time to wake up.”

 

\---

 

Helat greeted the sunrise with a muttered prayer to Namira, daedric prince of all creeping things hated by man and mer, patron of the lowest of the low.  He had been raised in a strictly Tribunal-worshiping household.  The Merciful Goddess had notably failed to show up and save his mother from her wasting sickness or stop his father from being a drunken asshole.  Namira obviously cared more for the truly wretched, even if her greatest advice to her followers was to make others as wretched as themselves.

 

He packed away his blanket hastily, did a few quick stretches to ensure swift and silent movement, and then shifted position up the path to another clump of kreshweed, hunkering down to wait as he ate dried mushrooms and scuttle.  Today was the day, he was sure of it.

 

\---

 

Ra'kesh groaned.  Morning had come too soon.  He pulled himself up with an unhappy grunt, blinking sleep from bloodshot eyes.  He had taken the eye patch off before sleeping and didn't move for it straight away.  It was good to be free of the snug strap on his face for a while.

 

They ate breakfast slowly, knowing this was most likely the last peaceful moment they would have together until their pursuer was dead.  Again Ra'kesh sat with his side pressed against Kala's, leaning against her in companionable silence while they ate.  Ra'kesh felt like a prisoner being granted his last meal before the execution.  He wondered idly if the callous Dunmer even observed that tradition.

 

The fire was dying on its own when they finally packed up and made ready to leave.  While Kala unlocked the door, Ra'kesh took a last glance at the bloody stain on the ground where the clannfear had been the night before.  It was gone now to the waters of Oblivion.  Ra'kesh had a vague impression of how the process worked, but wondered if the clannfear was dead or asleep before it was reborn into a new body.  And would the stupid thing learn to avoid the old mine after being killed twice in it?

 

The hinges squealed as Ra'kesh shut the door behind them, closing a chapter of their lives as much as they were closing a mine.

 

“Well, he will certainly know we are on our way now,” Ra'kesh said quietly.  Then, in his normal speaking voice, “Were those claws for alchemy, or battle trophies?”

 

“Alchemy,” Kala said.  “You don't keep trophies unless you kill it hand-to-hand.” Her voice dropped an octave on the second sentence as she tried to imitate her father's voice.  It was satisfying that he now might get such a joke even if she felt her heart accelerating the closer they got to the Lance.  She wondered if all of the bodies were still there, or if the spiders would have carried them away.

 

It was another long day of hiking through the mist, which cleared up close to noon and started rolling back in as the sun set.  Every step closer Magnus came to the horizon made Ra'kesh's heart beat a little faster in anticipation.  He breathed deeply to calm himself.  Ra'kesh knew they would reach Drakan-Ka just before nightfall, and although he expected the Dunmer to attack after dark, anything could happen as soon as the Lance of Ghezek appeared out of the mists.

 

And there it was, hours after reaching a point where Ra'kesh wanted to rest for the night, rising from the fog against a purple and red streaked sky.  Ra'kesh deftly pulled a detection potion from his pouch and downed it, tucking the empty bottle back where it was and moving in a way that someone behind him wouldn't be able to tell what he had done.

 

“It'll be interesting to see if the spider centurions still remember us,” she said.  “Nobody's really tested that, how long their memories last.” A tiny particle of the old enthusiasm crept into her voice as she contemplated something uniquely Dwemer.  “We don't really know how they acquire or store commands yet.  People have taken them apart, but it's just difficult to reverse engineer something from a culture so alien to us.”

 

As the spire drew closer she turned toward the side entrance where they had originally found the dead Redguard.  The rusty door screamed as she hauled it open, a lonesome and eerie sound in the gathering night.

 

Behind them, thoroughly chameleon against his surroundings and walking very softly on his thin shoes, Helat stalked through the fog.  He debated attacking now, while he had the fog for cover, and then risking the ruin alone to look for the machine.  Or he could kill the Khajiit, capture the Orc, and force her to take him to it.  Most mages were fairly helpless with their hands tied.  Either was probably a wiser solution than letting a Dwemer scholar precede him into an environment that she must inevitably know better than he did.

 

Helat nodded to himself, downed a potion from his belt, and drew his daggers.  He accelerated into a run on silent feet, and just as the Orc was preparing to step into the twisted stairwell he lunged, flying out of the fog to slash at the Khajiit's throat and belly.  There was almost no warning, and there was no wind to strongly carry his scent; only a whisper of cloth on cloth preceded his appearance from the fog like a gray ghost.

  
  


Ra'kesh winced at the grating sound of rust against rust.  He braced one hand against the jamb, waiting for Kala to enter first - she knew the words, not he, and Ra'kesh didn't want to be the first to come face to face with a spider - and turned to have one last glance at the wilderness behind them.  A flash of purple entered his vision, already too close for him to draw his sword.  Ra'kesh threw himself aside, tucking into a roll as he hit the ground.  His brain sent the order to yell Kala's name and a warning to move all at once, but the sound that came out instead was a word garbled beyond recognition.


	15. Chapter 15

Kala heard Ra'kesh shout something as he suddenly hurled himself away, and she ducked to one knee as she turned, trying to see what the threat was.  The man in gray was a blur, silk and steel in the swirling mist.  She raised a hand in the gesture of her lightning spell as he became momentarily still, dagger flying from his right hand.  

 

The Khajiit dodged him.  Helat was surprised, but not such that it threw him off-balance; he had landed with his weight on his right foot, and now he shifted to his left as he spun to throw one of the daggers at the approximate point where he judged the Khajiit's chest would be.  He was already moving forward, light on the balls of his feet, when lightning crackled out of the fog to his left, enveloping him in the charge.  It stung him just enough that he checked in his stride, grunting; then it gathered from the iridescent skin of the reflection enchantment bestowed by the potion and darted back whence it had come.

 

Kala had about a half-second to realize what had happened before the charge of blinding agony hit her in the chest.  She screamed as she was thrown back, seemingly suspended in space, and then the sound cut off in a gasp as she slammed down into the closed door beside the stairwell.  She could see steam rising from her own clothes.  As the first, worst pain faded she felt the sharper pain of the contact burns on her feet and chest, formed instantaneously as the lightning earthed itself by the shortest route.  Her arms and legs would not move at all, the natural charge on the muscles blown out by the spell.

 

Ra'kesh rolled onto one knee, hand on his hilt, a second away from pushing himself to his feet when he gasped at the sudden piercing pain from his left rib.  The icy burn that exploded from the center of the wound was a new agony.  Pain radiated from the entry point as blood froze in his veins, creeping deeper until it reached his heart.  A frost atronach may as well have grabbed it and squeezed.  The skin and fur of his torso hardened with frost.

 

Common sense would tell him not to remove the blade without a healing potion ready, but his every instinct screamed  _ get it out now! _

 

Ra'kesh staggered to his feet, aware even though the pain that it was move or die.  He yanked the dagger free with a growl, flinging it away from himself into the brush nearby without thinking.  Thawed blood splurted from the wound a moment later.  He was vaguely aware there had been a scream, and he could no longer see Kala.  The Dunmer was advancing.

 

Helat felt a spurt of annoyance as he realized he might have just killed fifty thousand drakes.  Well, Orcs were robust even as mages.  Maybe she had survived.  It would not do to distract himself from the Khajiit even now flinging his dagger into the weeds – men had died from one blow of that blade near the heart, and he was still standing.

 

“Hm.” Helat grunted with amused approval as he danced to one side, lightly tossing the left-hand blade and catching it in his right.  He was not one to toy with his prey, for it brought him no particular pleasure, but he knew that the wound he had inflicted was a serious one.  Now he need only outlast the wounded man.  He feinted a slash at the Khajiit's wounded side, then darted back, fog swirling around them like silt in deep water.

 

Kala managed to drag one arm up a few inches.  It flopped limply back onto the brass door with a hollow  _ thump.   _ Loss of consciousness would, at this point, have been a relief; but she was wide awake and aware of every screaming nerve.  Her burns hurt more every second, and she could feel herself twitching occasionally as damaged nerves fired on their own, sending false signals.

 

She began to slowly creep her left arm toward her potion belt, crawling the fingers along the cold, rough metal.  The muscles seemed to become exhausted and need a rest every few seconds, aching as if she had climbed a thousand-foot ladder.  Progress was agonizingly slow.

 

Ra'kesh hauled the Dwemer sword from its sheath, suddenly very heavy in his hand, just as the Dunmer lunged.  He staggered to the side to avoid a blow that never came.  A sticky, wet warmth had spread over his belly as blood dribbled down, shirt clinging to soaked fur.  Ra'kesh circled backward, putting distance between himself and his opponent, fumbling at his pouch with his left hand for the single healing potion he had left.

 

“Does elf even know what he is after?” Ra'kesh asked breathily, forcing a cocky grin over his face, turning his head just slightly to the right to see him best.  He could barely make out the features of the Dunmer's face through the purple haze.  Kala's aura was visible beyond the stairwell; she may be badly injured, but she was alive for now.

 

Ra'kesh was starting to feel lightheaded.  He struggled to suck in enough air.

 

“Drakes, mainly,” Helat said.  He darted forward to strike at the Khajiit's belly and was surprised to find his steel dagger striking sparks from the dwemer shortsword.  That was what he got for letting himself be led into talking.   _ Don't let him get whatever he's reaching for.   _ He pressed the attack, stepping right and then sinking suddenly to try to sweep the Khajiit's legs out from under him.  The betmer's weakening voice said his lung was punctured.  Once down with a wound like that, getting up would be like climbing Red Mountain while walking on your hands.

 

Kala managed to get her hand to her belt, panting with the effort, eyes streaming with the throbbing of her burns.  Health potions were on the left.  So were detections.  It was hard to remember, right at this moment, where one left off and the other began, and it would take so, so long to get one to her mouth.  She was nearly sure that there was a red dot on her left hip.  She crawled her fingers to that, so very slowly; so, so necessary to go slow, that she might not drop the thing halfway up.  Her fingers were still twitchy and weak, but at last they closed around the vial.

 

Ra'kesh parried the strike, just barely.  He felt his mind slowing down from the lack of blood and oxygen.  There was no way the Dunmer would ever let Ra'kesh get a hand in his belt pouch, let alone the time to look down and see which color potion he was pulling out.  He pressed his hand against the wound instead.  Fiddling with the belt was too much of a distraction.

 

Ra'kesh swung as the Dunmer pressed forward, sword slicing through empty air as the mer ducked.  Something hit his leg and the world swung forward.  He slashed down at the Dunmer, carrying the momentum of the missed swing as he fell back.

 

He smacked the hard ground heavily, the little air he had knocked from his lungs.  For an eternity his mouth gaped, unable to inhale.

 

_ It can not end like this! _ Black spots ate away the darkening sky above.  Stars twinkled here and there, peeking through the cloud cover towards the East where it was darkest.  The flame of Kala's soul burned bright from the bottom of his eye.  She hadn't moved yet.  If Ra'kesh died now, she would be alone.   _ She will die. _

 

Helat grunted in startlement as the heavy shortsword sliced into his torso, spraying blood over himself and the Khajiit.  The impact knocked him backward, breath expelled from his body as he landed on the hard ground.  Air hissed between his teeth as he struggled to re-inflate his lungs.  There was no pain yet, only the hot, wet feeling of blood spurting over his clothes – too much blood.  There was a uniquely pungent stink that he knew came from his own wound, sure sign of a punctured intestine.  Shoving up onto his elbows, he looked down and saw a loop of soft pink sliding out of the welter of gore.  The shortsword had cut through his belt on the way down.  He groped for his belt pouch with the healing potions.  His fingers had not started to go numb yet, and the Khajiit was down.   _ There is time.  Do not panic. _

 

Kala hauled the potion slowly, slowly up toward her mouth, teeth gritted.  She had never thought it possible to be in this much pain and still remain alert to every sound, every sensation.  She felt the rough, cold surface of the door behind her head, the ground against the side of one limp foot.  She heard the sounds of scuffling and the double impact of two bodies falling, and her heart seemed to stop.  She gasped and nearly lost her grip at the thought that both were dead.   _ No.  No.  No. _

 

The red tide did not come at her call.  The lightning had robbed her of too much energy to sustain it.

 

She was almost startled to feel the cork bump her cheek.  She half-climbed her own face with her hand as she struggled to thumb the cork loose, to get the timing just right.

 

Ra'kesh blinked the warm droplet of blood from his eye.  His mind churned slowly, wondering where that raindrop had come from.  The Dunmer.  He heaved noisily, air finally filling his lungs accompanied with a strange crackle from his chest.  It wasn't enough, he sucked and sucked and it still wasn't enough, but it was all he had.  He rocked forward onto his left arm, lights dazzling his eye as the movement caused a sharp pain from the stab wound.

 

The stench of imminent death washed over the roof of his panting mouth.  Through the colored haze Ra'kesh could see the Dunmer on the ground, propped up similarly to himself, reaching for something.  Ra'kesh had plenty of time now to grab the potion on his hip, but that would give his assailant the same chance.  Ra'kesh pushed himself up on his trembling left arm and turned the hilt in his hand.  His movements were so slow, so clumsy, yet the Dunmer hardly twitched all the while.  Ra'kesh lay perched on Alkosh's whisker, the movement of the world slowed to a halt while his fingers slowly did what they had to do to turn the sword in his hands.

 

He stabbed down into Helat's leg with every last ounce of strength he could summon.

 

Helat was focused on the belt pouch and did not see the Khajiit move.  He felt the sword pin his leg to the ground.  He knew the moment when it severed the great artery.  He jerked, weight falling onto his elbow as he caught himself.  It did not hurt.  He was in a place past where pain lived.  In that moment, knowing with absolute certainty that he was dead, Helat experienced a moment of clarity of a kind he had never known before.

 

He laughed.  He felt lighter than he ever had, realizing that whatever he might suffer in future, he would never feel the sting of Zael's spells again, and Zael would never know what had happened to him.  Or maybe that was blood loss.  He was beginning to feel a strange euphoria, stars wheeling about him as Nirn began to tilt.

 

“The Scuttling Void opens for me,” he said.  “There all my coin is of no worth, Khajiit.  Well done.” He breathed for a moment.  His throat was clear of blood.  All of it was running out of the wound in his chest and belly, spurting from his leg.  “If you should… Ever go to Molag Mar… There is an apartment in the waistworks.  Key in my… bag opens it...”

 

It grew harder to speak as he saw the Void open in front of him, and he tipped down into the great darkness as he slumped, eyes growing distant without ever closing.

 

Kala twitched as the mer spoke, his voice a distant whisper.  Half the potion ran down her cheek, half into her mouth.  She swallowed desperately.  Strength flowed into her arms and legs, though for a moment the pain redoubled as new nerves regrew through her burns.  She whimpered as she forced herself to sit up, grabbing another potion.  The Dunmer lay collapsed, leg held to the ground by Ra'kesh's sword.  The Khajiit held to the sword with his head hanging low.  There was a stench of intestinal contamination in the air, like raw sewage, and she shook with dread as she stumbled over to look.

 

Ra'kesh listened with confusion to the dying man's last words.  It was all a nonsensical jumble.  Slowly the light of his life ebbed and Ra'kesh could finally see the Dunmer clearly, unseeing eyes staring forward.  He dropped his head again, eyes closing.  It was done.  Finally, he could rest.  His hand slipped from the sword and Ra'kesh fell back against the ground again.

 

He cracked his lids and saw the purple light had moved.  So Kala was all right after all.  Ra'kesh smiled weakly.  He wanted to see her face again, one last time, but knowing she would survive was enough.  He could be content with that.  He felt so far away from his own heavy limbs now, so far away from the pain in his rib.  If his own finger twitched he would not notice.  He imagined he could feel Kala pressed against his chest.  Yes, that's why it was so hard to breath and so warm, she was laying on top of him, head against his heart.

 

He wanted to thank her, he had so many things to say but no words would form.  It was okay.  He would tell her in the next world, where she would meet his family.  Ra'kesh purred weakly as he began to die.

 

As she drew nearer Ra'kesh slid to the ground, slumped onto his back beside the Dunmer.  The mer was dead, eyes unseeing as the blood ceased to flow from his wounds – and the smell was from the great cut in his chest and belly, pink bits of things exposed that were never meant to see light.  Kala coughed, dry-heaving at the smell as she sank down beside the wounded Khajiit.  His breathing was awful, a slow, high-pitched wheeze from the punctured lung.  There were red bubbles around the wound as air was expelled from the chest cavity.

 

Kala thumbed the potion's cork and poured it down his throat, shaking on her knees, other hand pushing back his mane – he was purring, she realized, semiconscious and probably unaware of his surroundings.

 

“It's all right, lover, it's all right,” she crooned desperately.  He was not too far gone to heal.  She could see the edges of his wound starting to creep together – and then stop.  The potion was not enough.  She did not trust herself to cast without the spell failing at this moment, this worst of all times to see the light fizzle out at her fingertips.  She took the last red dot from her belt instead, holding it to his lips.  “Live, Ra'kesh,” she whispered fiercely, tears standing in her eyes.  “Live.”

 

Her robe and undertunic had crumbled around the edges of the contact burn, exposing a patch between her breasts and up to her collarbones.  The burn was still there, red and angry, but no longer down to the muscle.

 

Ra'kesh convulsed in a weak, airless cough at the unexpected liquid trickling down his throat.  He didn't understand what it was, but Ra'kesh had never been so thirsty.  He eagerly gulped down the rest.  As the lung mended he suddenly breathed in the first deep, full breath he'd had in several minutes.  His chest burned for a moment before the pain faded.

 

That was Kala's voice.  She sounded so upset.  As feeling returned to his limbs, the bridge of his nose crinkled at the awful stench.  He looked up at a blurry Kala from one slitted eye.

 

“What..?” he croaked feebly.  He wanted to know what was wrong.  The confusion cleared and he slowly started to realize where he was.  He pushed himself onto his elbows, causing the world to spin.  Kala stunk of fear and burned flesh.  The purple light was fading now, revealing an ugly burn on her chest.  Ra'kesh couldn't understand how that happened.

 

“Take the heal..” The fingers of his right hand twitched, trying to point to his belt pouch.

 

Kala pushed a shaking arm under his shoulders as he tried to raise himself.  "It's all right, we're all right now." She hardly knew what she was saying, dizzy with relief to hear him trying to speak.  She clamped her jaws shut around hysterical babble as he spoke again, following his weak attempt at pointing.

 

“Potion.  Right.” She reached for the belt pouch with her free left hand and fumbled the flap off its toggle to get a vial out – no, purple.  She pushed it back in and grabbed another one.  Purple… Red.  She downed it, then nearly dropped him as she shuddered with a relief that was almost ecstatic; the pain of her lacerated nerves smoothed away and vanished as though it had never been.  The flesh of her chest smoothed from angry red into pale green.  She pulled his upper body into her lap so she could put her arms around him.  Her fingers glowed faintly as she healed him; the outflow of power was enervating, making her feel weaker, but probably everything would do that for the rest of the night.

 

Night.  The sky was dark, stars wheeling overhead.  She stared up at them without understanding for a moment, trying to get her breath.  She had Ra'kesh, could feel him breathing.  That was real.  The rest of it would make sense eventually.

 

Ra'kesh almost felt like himself again as he was enveloped by Kala's arms and the healing glow.  He looked up at her with eye wide open now.

 

“Ra'kesh was stupid again,” he said, smiling wryly.  He was too happy to see Kala's face to be mad about his miscalculation.  “The Dunmer did not wait for sleep after all.” He would have loved to lay there in her arms for a moment more- she was so warm, and Ra'kesh was so very tired- but he needed to get away from that stench before he started gagging.  He pulled himself up to a sitting position, bracing himself against her arms.

 

“The mer was saying something strange as he died,” Ra'kesh said.  His features contorted in confusion as he suddenly remembered, one ear laying back.  “Something about a room in Molag Mar and a key.” He touched a hand to his head, feeling slightly dizzy from the movement.  His sword was lying beside them on the short grass.

 

Kala supported him as best she could, strong again now that she was healed.  Fatigue would catch up; but it was not time for that yet.

 

“We both were,” she said.  “I honestly thought he would wait until we were nearer the machine – wait, yes! I heard it too.” She watched him anxiously, one hand supporting his back.  She wanted the reassurance that he was warm and alive and breathing as much as she wanted to help, if she was honest with herself.  “Blood loss is a tricky thing.  Hold still.” She healed him again, fingers moving against his back as the power transferred.  More strength went out with the power; she clenched the muscles in her arm against the threat of weakness.

 

“Stop that,” he said in mocking admonishment, patting her arm when she healed him.  “Ra'kesh is fine and Kala needs her strength just as much.”

 

“He said something about coin being of no worth in the Scuttling Void – he must've been a Namiran.  Ugh.  Well, he died reeking, that should please her.” She wrinkled her nose as she worked on getting them both upright.  Her knees had not become bad soldiers yet – gods, that was an old one, her mother had used to say it when she was a little girl.  Her nostrils were already becoming desensitized, but every small change in the air currents or drift in the fog renewed the stench.  “Then he said there was an apartment in Molag Mar and a key to it in his bag.  Why would he tell you that? He tried to kill you!”

 

Ra'kesh held her hands as they rose together, tail stretched in a long upward curve behind himself for balance.  He didn't even wobble.  Amazing that he had been on the cusp of death only minutes ago.  Ra'kesh had been so sure it was time, so accepting of the inevitable.  Perhaps the Dunmer had experienced the same thing and realized something important.

 

“He was a hired blade for sure - he said he was after drakes.  He had no personal feelings for us, probably did not even know what he was here for.” Ra'kesh shrugged, looking down at the body of his opponent.  The man's innards oozed from a long slash, his dead eyes staring past them.  Ra'kesh found that he held neither contempt nor pity for Veridael's murderer.  Holding his breath, he leaned down to pick up his sword.  “Let's find his bag.  He ran from over there.” Ra'kesh pointed to the long grass and kreshweed with his sword before sheathing it.

 

She let go reluctantly.

 

“And now we'll never know who hired him,” Kala said.  She scooped up the belt pouch from just out of reach of the dead man's hand – Ra'kesh must have cut his belt when he cut his body, barely succeeding in separating him from his potion stash.  She shuddered.  “Someone rich, because – damnation.” She eyed the messy corpse.  “He had something that was able to reflect magic, sent my spell right back at me at almost full power.  If it's an enchanted item it's nearly priceless.”

 

Even potions of reflect were expensive; not for the rarity of the ingredients, some of which at least were said to be common, but because the recipe was a closely guarded secret among those who possessed it.  If anyone could cheaply obtain reflection, both the Mages Guild and the House of Telvanni would rapidly diminish in power.

  
  


She looked into the pouch.  It held five potion vials and a smaller, velveted pouch that proved to contain a handful of diamonds and emeralds.  “Heal… heal… fatigue… fatigue… Oh.” One had a piece of pink twine tied around the neck.  “It  _ was  _ a potion.  He had a few jewels, too.  Probably lighter and quieter to carry than drakes.”

 

“So that is how Kala was burned.” Ra'kesh winced.  He'd seen what her lightning did and would never want to be on the receiving end.

 

He walked away as Kala took stock of her spoils.  The tall grass leading from the door was tamped where the Dunmer had trod.  He waded into the damp, leafy sea, nose twitching for the scent of leather.  He finally spotted a depression in the grass several yards away from where they had initially been attacked.  The Dunmer had been so careful to stay out of range of their life detection up until the last moment.  Ra'kesh threw down the bedroll and came back to Kala with the pack over his shoulder.

 

“Whatever this key leads to, it must be very important,” Ra'kesh said, coming to stand over the body again.  “It might lead to a name, but if not...  We might use the machine before it is destroyed forever.  But this time there can be no Kala Iron-Tooth.  Dunmer must be killed for good.”

 

A thin strip of leather against the Dunmer's neck caught his eye.  He reached down to pull it over the dead man's head, yanking it free when it caught between the head and the ground.  A silver medallion no larger than a drake dangled from the end of the thong.  It bore an emblem resembling bat wings and shone faintly in the starlight.  Ra'kesh handed it to Kala.

 

“Is this his chameleon?” He could feel the small thrum of power under his fingertips when he touched it, but knew nothing more.

 

Kala accepted the amulet, rubbing her thumb across the emblem.  Power tingled through her fingers for just an instant, producing an echo of something she had felt before.

 

“Yes,” she said.  “And it's a very good one.  It would be valuable to sell, but given how things have been lately I think it may be more valuable to keep.” She handed it back.  “And if we did use the machine, what then? How do we persuade him to tell us anything? If he is in the Scuttling Void he's probably already suffering worse than we can inflict.  And then the only inducement to talk would be to promise not to kill him.  I can't lie to a mer about that.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Ra'kesh can,” he said, lifting the amulet over his own head and tucking it into his shirt beside the other.  Carrying the man down multiple flights of stairs while his entrails slopped all over the place was almost enough to turn Ra'kesh off from the idea.

 

“Ra'kesh failed to tie up loose ends before and Kala almost died,” He said after a long moment of thought.  “Kala can go away and not watch, but it needs to be done.  We can wrap that wound with cloth and pull him downstairs on a bedroll.” He spoke apologetically, watching Kala's face for her reaction.

 

The amulet showed through the stained hole in his shirt as it swung slightly with the movement.  Kala's lips twisted as she looked at it.  “Another shirt ruined,” she said.  She raised her eyes to his face as the wry smile faded.  She hated the idea of treating someone so who was completely in their power, even if he had murdered Veridael and tried to kill them both.  There were things one did not do.  And it seemed bizarre for Ra'kesh to be the one arguing in favor of the machine when he had objected first on religious grounds.

 

But he had told her his reason.  It frightened her a little that he set her life so high that he would effectively commit torture to preserve it.

 

“I will not deny you,” she said at last.  “Let me freeze the body first, at least.  It's going to be a long walk.”

 

She froze the mer's torso and leg a couple of times with her weak frost spell, and it did cut the smell significantly.  Then she helped Ra'kesh roll the mer in the blanket from his own bag.  She got out her own bedroll to lay him on.  Then they prepared to tow him down into the orange-lit dim.  The yellow bulbs flickered in the twisted stairwell.  The note warning about the spiders was gone, the dagger was gone; even the dead Redguard was gone, not even a smear left behind.

 

“They've been cleaning,” she said.  She had to raise her voice to be heard above the distant hum of the machines.  There was a tickita-clickita of many brassy feet in response.  A spider centurion scuttled into view down the hall where the corridor became flat, pausing to twiddle its pedipalp grips at them.  The bag on top of it inflated and deflated once as Kala watched, waving Ra'kesh to a halt.  Then it went over to prod at one of the lighting fixtures and went on its way.

 

“The instructions I left are still in effect,” she said.

 

Dragging the man to the bottom level was a slow and arduous task.  They had their own knapsacks to carry in addition, although putting him on a bed did help.  They took multiple breaks for resting and refreshing the frost.  A spider centurion would momentarily pause when it saw them, as if assessing whether or not they were a threat, then bustle away on its business and leaving them to theirs.  Ra'kesh noted that the rooms they passed were completely free of dust and debris and the metal gleamed brilliant and spotless.

 

Kala felt more tired the lower they went, but Ra'kesh seemed completely without fatigue, and his injuries had been worse.  She pushed on and downed a fatigue restorative when he wasn't looking.  Drakan-Ka hardly seemed the same place.  She had to consider it a relief.  The Altmer's ghost could not live in a place that was so different from where she had left him.  Still, there was something eerie about the perfect, clean emptiness of it, especially in the dim and towering space of the room that held the Engine.  The replicated comberry bushes and the pile of robes were gone.  Even the chairs had been pushed back to their previous positions.

 

The Engine was shinier than they had left it, but otherwise untouched.  Ra'kesh checked the Dunmer's pockets and shoes for anything that could be used as a weapon, coming up with nothing.  His enchanted daggers were safely in his bag for now, which Ra'kesh had carried down with them.  They tied his hands behind his back and then his feet and gingerly loaded the half-frozen corpse into the cylinder of the machine.

 

Ra'kesh steeled himself against the unpleasant task with little expression on his face.  He had done far worse in his life than this, Ra'kesh told himself.  This was a bad man.  He brought this on himself.

 

“Will Kala stay? She does not have to,” he said.

 

Kala leaned on the machine with one hand, reminded of the peculiar warmth of it.  The strange mechanisms that lined the wall behind it still moved and hissed in their endless work.  The Dunmer's dead face had not changed, staring at infinity as the film formed over the red-on-red eyes.

 

“Whatever you do for my sake, I will not be hidden from it,” she said now, quietly.  “You don't have to be afraid that I'll try to stop you.  I won't.”

 

“He does not think you would stop him.  Ra'kesh does not want Kala to become jaded to the ugliness of the world, as he has.” His stony expression softened slightly as he looked at her.  Then he nodded to the controls.  “Go ahead.”

 

Ra'kesh watched grimly as the red lights traced the Dunmer's body, piercing the blanket wrapped around his torso.  Ra'kesh could just imagine those organs sliding back inside before the skin sealed shut.  He was able to see the layers of muscle and skin knit together on the leg, leaving bloodied and torn pants but no trace of injury on the skin.

 

Ra'kesh barely had time to consider what he would do.  Kala was right, no torture would make him talk.  Maybe nothing would.  All of this might be in vain.

 

The blue lights came next, tracing the torn edges of the clothing which pulled together before their eyes.  Blood seeped from the fabric and dried to dust, falling away to nothing as the lights passed over it.  There was a pause, and Ra'kesh realized he'd been holding his breath.  The last red light pulsed once over the Dunmer's heart.  Slowly, the ashy gray skin of his face faded to a healthy purple-blue.

 

\---

 

Denva Khashzanal, who had for the last years of his life called himself Helat, walked naked through a shallow ocean of dreck, struggling to keep his head above the surface.  It reeked of blood and excrement, and things like disembodied organs slithered away under his grasping hands.  There was something under his feet, but it moved in many directions like a swarm of scrib.  Every so often something would pierce his soles from beneath.  Sometimes it was only pain.  Sometimes it would paralyze him and he would sink, choking on unspeakable dreck, until it wore off and he was able to swim back to the top and find footing again.  And there was the sound, always the sound of distant chittering and clacking.

 

He did not know if there was a shore to the horrible sea, for it was pitch black.  There were no stars above, no lights in any direction.  Sometimes he heard a voice laughing far away, or something sliding through the glutinous mess, something large enough to send dreadful waves sloshing over his head.

 

_ I wonder what happens when I drown.   _ He had heard that it was possible to die in a plane of Oblivion, even after perishing in Nirn, but not what would happen after.  Would he be lost to the streams of the Void? Or would he have to make his way through the waters of Oblivion only to find himself here again? Would the Lady of Horrors devour his soul entire, finally bringing long-desired silence and an end?

 

It was not pleasant speculation, but it was all that occupied him for what seemed like years.  He was beginning to debate moving toward one of the sloshing things in hopes that it would eat him when he felt a painful jerk and twist, and was yanked upward out of the chittering sea and into a light so bright that to look into it was pain -

 

Denva gasped in air that smelled of brass and tin, eyes snapping shut and then open.  He saw metal over his head, and his hands and feet jerked against rope.

 

“What - ?” He strained his neck forward to look at himself.  He still wore the same gray silk tunic and trousers, though they did not do much to cover the front of his body now, still bearing the wounds that had…

 

_ That killed me.  I was dead.   _ Anything was a relief after the horror and despair of the Void – gods, what a fool he had been, what had he expected? To revel in darkness as a privileged worshiper? Ha.  He ought to have known the Prince of Creeping Things better than that.

 

He turned his head slowly.  The Orc and the Khajiit stood outside a curved glass panel looking in, faces grim.  The Khajiit was wearing his chameleon amulet.  They had already looted his body.  Bleak crimson eyes traced their faces as he nodded very slightly.

 

_ Then this is temporary.  The Engine of Greater Difference really can raise the dead, but they cannot let me live.  Not when I might return to Zael. _

 

Denva turned his head back to face the ceiling and shut his eyes as he began a silent prayer to his ancestors, lips moving in words half-remembered.

 

\---

 

Kala kept her face from showing any expression as she watched the man return to life, though inwardly she quailed at what was coming.  This close the mer's face showed scars, not of ritual or tribal affiliation, but of old cuts and gashes; they marked his chin, pierced one eyebrow, decorated the left side of his forehead with paler gray.  He met her eyes with complete understanding of his situation, and that made it worse.

 

_ I should have taken Ra'kesh's offer, damn my eyes.  I am a coward.   _ She stepped back and hauled at the door of the Engine.  It hissed gently as it opened.

 

“Hello again, friend,” Ra'kesh said darkly when the door was open.  He stood with his arms across his chest, making no move for the Dunmer.  The relaxed cant of his ears, pointed forward and slightly to the sides, and impassive face belied the sick horror that clenched in his stomach.  A rush of adrenaline tingled up his arms.

 

“Would Dunmer be so kind as to tell us why he is here?”

 

Denva opened his eyes slowly.  He did not know that he had any right to be heard, but perhaps there was some faint chance they would let him spend eternity as a ghost, bound to be summoned by some worthier Dunmer.  Every second of life he could buy himself was one more second in which to make his case.

 

_ Delay them. _

 

“Why should I tell you that?” he asked, rolling onto his side to face the Khajiit.  “You cannot let me live.”

 

Ra'kesh shrugged.

 

“Sure we can.  We can cut out Dunmer's tongue, eyes, and fingers to make him useless.  It may not be a fun life after that, but is it better or worse than where he was? Khajiit has never died, so he does not know.  Perhaps Dunmer can say.  Khajiit must admit he is curious what becomes of a Namiran in death.”

 

“That's an idle threat.  I've been useless all my life,” he said calmly.  Perfect despair had left him feeling heavy and hollow in a way he did not remember ever experiencing before.  The money didn't matter.  Pain didn't matter.  Nothing mattered except delaying the inevitable for as long as he possibly could.  “And now that I have seen the Scuttling Void, there is nothing in this life that I fear.”

 

Kala had been listening, arms folded, lips a thin line.  Now she said softly,

 

“Do you want to save a life? Is that worth something?”

 

Denva turned his head to look at her, eyes weary.  “Knowing his name will not save you.  Either of you.”

 

“And keeping the name to himself will not save Dunmer, either,” Ra'kesh said pointedly.  “Let's start with another topic.  How much does this man know? What are his intentions for the machine?”

 

Ra'kesh knew the Dunmer would stall him as long as possible.  Right now, that was fine with Ra'kesh.  His expression darkened, remembering a time long ago when he had been eager for blood.  Dunmer blood in particular.

 

Denva looked back at Ra'kesh – that had been his name, Ra'kesh – as he spoke.  The Orc was reluctant.  The one-eyed Khajiit was not.  He supposed that was consistent with what he knew about each of them.  If she had been alone she would not have agreed to resurrect him; and yet if she had been alone he might have been able to persuade her to let him live.

 

_ Focus.  You know what you deserve.  Just be glad she survived, or he would go straight to pulling out your fingernails without all this foreplay.   _ He could not make himself care.  There seemed no adrenaline left in his body, not for fear, not for the smallest particle of hope.  He lay quiescent in his bonds, head resting on the cold brass of the machine's inner platform.

 

He ought to come across with something.  If he was completely uncooperative he would just die sooner.

 

“He has replicated most of Sera gra-Nend's research,” Denva said.  “He has a book that you were unable to find, the  _ Trials of Khavrhad _ , that refers to the Engine and mentions its use.  He did not find the location, because it is available only from Veridael's writings in the Mages Guild library.”

 

He waited, only mildly curious whether they would draw the obvious deduction from that statement.

 

Kala was watching Ra'kesh as well.  His face had changed in a way that she did not remember seeing, not even when he was disfigured by the lust for skooma.  She waited with dread and horror, putting all of her effort into controlling her face; only by folding her arms tightly could she stop her hands from shaking.  Surely soon she would be too tired for that.  Surely.

 

_ I can't lie to a mer about that. _

 

_ Ra'kesh can. _

 

_ \--- _

 

_ Skinning a mer was easier than Ra'kesh expected it to be.  No different from skinning an animal, except for the muffled screams and the thrashing.  Even with his arm and body tied down tightly to the table, oh, how the Dunmer had thrashed! _

 

_ Sometimes he would begin to feel pity as he stripped skin from the arm, but then Ra'kesh would look up at those monstrous red eyes.  The mer had been crying like a child, but those eyes were always bloodshot.  Wet trails from tears and snot stained his ashen skin.  All Ra'kesh had to do was think of his sisters staring into those cruel red eyes, screaming in terror as they died, and he felt no remorse. _

 

_ Ra'kesh minimized the bleeding with a tourniquet, but the table below the body still was stained with blood.  He pulled back the skin with his knife until it was bunched around the wrist.  He could go no further because of the rope.  The bared muscles twitched in the open air and still the elf screamed into his gag.  Ra'kesh would cut out his stupid vocal chords if he knew how to do it without killing, but then the man wouldn't be able to talk. _

 

_ They never had anything to say, anyway.  None of them remembered the gray-striped girl or the family of four they had slain in their hut.  It was just another day in the life of a slaver, nothing noteworthy enough to remember. _

 

_ The hoarse screaming ceased for a moment.  The elf had tired himself out, or was ready to lose consciousness.  Ra'kesh slammed his knife into the twitching muscle and twisted, grinning at the renewed cries of agony. _

 

_ \--- _

 

Ra'kesh mentally shook himself, one ear flicking to the side.  His eyes had been looking past the Dunmer as he spoke.  In one fluid movement he flung the door open completely and stepped forward.  His hand closed on the Dunmer's neck, raising him off the ground and slamming him down head-first in the next second.

 

“The pleasantries are over now,” Ra'kesh growled.  “Khajiit will slit his throat right now and send him back to whence he came if more interesting details do not come out  _ now _ .”

 

Denva's view whirled up and down again as his trachea was flattened shut, and then there was a stunning impact and sparks flew in front of his eyes.  For a moment he genuinely knew nothing, heard nothing; then he dimly registered that the Khajiit had spoken.  Behind him, the Orc probably did not know she was shaking.

 

“...What?” he said blurrily.

 

Ra'kesh released the mer's neck and yanked him forward by the collar.

  
  


“Khajiit will slit his throat and send him back to the Scuttling Void if he does not say something interesting now,” he said, speaking every word slowly and delicately.  His fangs were bared in front of the mer's face.

 

He ignored Kala, wordless behind him.  He would not be able to look at her after this.

 

The Dunmer's eyes looked past him, at Kala, then back at Ra'kesh.  The muscles of his face remained relaxed, not in concealment but in indifference.  Even the pain in his head did not seem to make much of an impression.  He met her eyes for a full second, and in his she saw complete acceptance of his fate; something about it was almost more disturbing, turning her stomach.  And yet - if he had begged for his life she was not sure she could have endured it.  She tugged the front of her ruined robe further closed, trying in vain to dispel the chill she now felt.

 

“He is the lord of Tel Zael,” said Denva.  His voice was clear enough, now.  He had been through worse at his employer's hands.

 

Ra'kesh didn't know what to do next.  He hadn't expected an answer.  Of course, the Dunmer could be lying.  They had no way to verify if such a person existed from way out here.  Was the Scuttling Void really such a hellish place that he would break so easily at the threat of being sent back? Ra'kesh swallowed uneasily.

  
  


“Is Tel Zael familiar to Kala at all?” he asked without turning.  He had never heard of it himself, but he had little knowledge of Vvardenfell aside from the major cities.  He did not know the names of high ranking members of any Great House, as someone interested in politics might.

 

“The name is of a Telvanni tower,” she said slowly, struggling to keep her voice even.  She felt sick to her stomach.  “The name of each begins with Tel and usually ends with the surname of its Lord or Lady.  So Tel Zael should belong to a – to a Telvanni lord called Zael.”

 

Denva cudgeled his brain for ways to make it last a little longer.  He was having trouble thinking now, suffused by a distracting numbness.  Something worth torturing him for…? The Khajiit seemed to lose his temper too easily.  Suggesting something threatening would probably just get him killed promptly.

 

He did feel something when he looked at the Orc, he was surprised to learn.  He felt pity.  It was almost a new sensation.  The world had gone completely upside down.

 

“Maybe you shouldn't watch,” he said gently, looking past Ra'kesh at Kala.  “It's nothing either of us hasn't been through before.  You're only making it harder on yourself.”

 

Kala covered her mouth as she half-turned away.  A whimper emerged anyway.  She had felt nothing looking at his corpse other than curiosity, revulsion; she had felt nothing at all when she had killed Esmera.  Now she felt weak and sick.  What if the Dunmer was right? Ra'kesh had told her that he had slit many Dunmer throats; but he had said nothing about torture.

 

_ He offered to let you leave.  You said no.  Idiot. _

 

Ra'kesh held the Dunmer's collar, face set in a hard scowl.  Ra'kesh knew that to elves, Khajiit appeared bestial in their anger, in the same way Dunmer resembled the Dremora to Khajiit, cruel and senseless beyond mortal comprehension.

 

He had not viewed Dunmer as being in the same class as other mortals for a long time.  One can call it racism if they must, but no other race committed the atrocities Ra'kesh had seen with his own eyes.  On an individual basis there were good and bad people of every race, but only the Dunmer committed their atrocities as a community.

 

As he aged Ra'kesh slowly began to realize that he had a limited worldview.  He had grown up without any higher education, and the history he knew was nothing more than stories passed down from Clan Mothers to daughters, most of it rooted in myth with little fact.  None of it was relevant to his own life other than the supposed morals attached to the stories.

 

At sea he was exposed to people from many backgrounds.  The crew was not entirely Khajiit.  He learned that his own people had instigated war against Valenwood, he learned that Khajiit and Argonians sometimes sold their own to the slavers out of greed, and he saw the pleasure in the eyes of many crew mates as they killed.  “Evil” was a quality universal to all races.  But he could not let go of the idea that Dunmer were  _ bad people _ or that they  _ deserved _ what Ra'kesh had done.  To admit that was to admit that he had been wrong.  Ra'kesh had only tortured known slavers, and not many before giving up on ever finding Fasai - but many merchants and sailors had died by his hand as well.

 

Ra'kesh had never resolved this conflict.  He merely numbed to it.  He knew no other life and could see no escape, until he was forced into a different life when he survived the shipwreck.  The gods had seen fit to deposit him in the homeland of his greatest enemy.  Every day he had to look into the red eyes of those who had destroyed his life and whom he had helped slay by the hundreds.  It drove him into the wilderness.

 

“Maybe you shouldn't watch,” the Dunmer had said, snapping Ra'kesh back to the present.  He released the mer's collar as if burned by it and stepped back.

 

“This one knows what Dunmer is doing,” Ra'kesh hissed.  “He thinks he can appeal to Kala's gentle nature, or use her to shame Ra'kesh.  How many innocents has Dunmer killed?” The last question was a bellow that echoed loudly in the metal chamber.


	17. Chapter 17

Denva did not flinch.  Kala did.

 

“My name is Denva Khashzanal,” he said.  “I have killed three people whom I knew to be innocent.  One was apprenticed to Zael's rival.  One was the steward of a great house in Balmora who was the only holder of the key to something Zael wanted – I never knew what.  The last was Veridael.  She would have made four.” He glanced at Kala, who still stood facing half-away, shoulders heaving.  Then he looked back at the Khajiit.  “I remember each of their faces.  Do you remember the face of every Dunmer you have killed, Ser' Ra'kesh?”

 

His tone was not accusatory.  It was deeply weary.

 

Ra’kesh remembered a few of the first ones, but honestly, it was mostly a blur.  When a ship was boarded the fighting was short and intense, the bodies quickly shoved oversea, and that night everyone got so drunk that few remembered much of the previous day.  Even if that had not been the case he still would have killed too many to remember them all.

 

“Your kind have all the same face to me,” Ra'kesh snarled back, and immediately knew it had been the wrong thing to say.  He glared at the Dunmer, body heaving and nostrils flaring in a rage he did not understand.  A part of him wanted to draw his sword and end this now, but another part screamed at him that this was wrong.

 

WHY? Why was it wrong?! This man was a murderer, and Ra'kesh had no reason to believe he would not kill again.  He might return to his master and kill many more, including Kala.  But did he deserve  _ eternal _ torture for his sins? Sins that were lesser than Ra'kesh's own?

 

Or was it because Kala was watching? Was Ra'kesh an inherently bad person and the only thing holding him back was the knowledge that one as kind and good as Kala might not love him any more if she saw his true ugliness?

 

Love be damned.  This man's existence endangered her life.  Ra'kesh moved his body close to Denva to block the view and leaned his arm across the mer's neck, pushing down on the shoulders, the other hand on his chin.  He twisted the head up in one sharp, swift movement.  The crack echoed in the chamber.  Ra'kesh closed his eyes, lowering his head.

 

_ Ra'kesh has asked for little in his life, dearest Khenarthi.  He prays with all his being that she will grant this request, if she has the will to do so.  Please deliver this soul to Aetherius.  This one can never atone for what he has done by himself.  All he has is his sincerest plea that this soul will not suffer any more. _

 

Ra'kesh held the body with its twisted neck for a long moment in a silent prayer.  He was shaking when he gently released Denva's corpse.

 

\---

 

_ Denva died without a sound.  He did not even feel the pain.  Only afterward, when he saw the light, did he realize that it had happened. _

 

… _.And there was a very great light indeed.  That was something of a surprise... _

 

_ \--- _

 

Kala stiffened at the words, turning to object; and then she heard the  _ snap.   _ She jerked, unable to stop the visceral reaction.  Ra'kesh was not looking at her.  He was still bent over the body, shoulders shaking.  She walked swiftly past him, fumbling for the hidden panel, and pushed into what had once been a Dwemer public bath so that she could go into a toilet stall and convulsively expel the contents of her stomach, clutching at the brass bowl.

 

She had not realized he was capable of hating anything or anyone that much.  She had not known he was capable of torture.  She wished desperately that she still did not know it.  The concept of interrogation was not one entirely foreign to Orcish culture, but she had been raised to believe that it was dishonorable; every foe should either live, or should die upright and facing the enemy, the death wished for by every Orc.  It was why she had been most bothered by the way that the Bosmer had died, out of all of the bandits for whose death they were responsible.  He was the one who had died by stealth.

 

And Denva Khashzanal had died twice, the second time with Ra'kesh's hate still ringing in his ears.  No one should die that way.  It didn't  _ matter  _ what he had done.  There were things you didn't  _ do. _

 

_ There are things you don't do. _

 

Kala pulled the stall door shut behind her, listened to the water swirl away as it set off automatically, and wept for a knowledge she did not wish to possess.

 

Ra'kesh's ears flicked towards the sound of Kala retching in the next room, but he didn't go after her.  He hauled the body out of the chamber by himself and laid it against the wall opposite the line of work tables.  Then he cut the bonds on Denva's hands and feet and laid the blanket over the mer's face.  All of it was meaningless; the spiders would come to clean him up eventually, if they weren't going to blow the whole place up to begin with.  Ra'kesh didn't know why he bothered.

 

His heart dropped when the sobs reached him.  He slumped against the wall a few feet away from the body, resting his forearms on his knees.  His ears sagged with the rest of him.

 

_ If she did not know what a monster Ra'kesh is before, she knows now, _ he thought.  The sound of her muffled cries were a dagger in his heart.  Somehow, it hurt worse than the frost.  He wanted to put his arms around her and say that everything was all right, but she may not welcome his touch now.  Worse yet, she might forgive him.  That was something Ra'kesh did not want or deserve.

 

He waited for a while, trying not to think about what he'd done.  The way the Dunmer had looked at Kala with...  pity? Remorse? It made his blood boil and his heart fill with grief all at once.  He'd never had such conflicting emotions before.  Why was he so angry at Denva?

 

Rather than admit the answer he already knew, Ra'kesh pushed himself to his feet and stalked over to where they had left the bags- they hadn't taken the time to check what was in the pack.  He laid the enchanted daggers on the table and rifled through the rest.  There might be something useful, or further clues as to his employer's identity, although Ra'kesh was somehow certain Denva had not lied.

 

There was a key in an inner pocket of the knapsack with the number  _ 25  _ carved into the round bit at the end.  There was a change of underclothing and a change of outer clothing, some dried food, a comb, and a small handheld stone with many scrape marks, probably used for whetting the daggers.  There was nothing else to suggest who the Dunmer had been or where he had come from.

 

Presently the tears ran out.  Kala wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve, lacking a handkerchief.  Her mouth tasted foul and her head felt dizzy.  The world had not ended.  There were things that needed doing, and it was time to get up and go on.  She climbed carefully to her feet, then paused to lean her head against the stall wall until it all stopped tilting.

 

She went out to the big brass trough of a sink to wash her hands and face, moving slowly as she tried to remember what needed to be done.   _ Spiders will take the body.  I still have the ectoplasm.  Then I'll need to… Talk to the new Dwemer… About how to…  _ She caught herself with her forearm before her head hit the mirror.  Everything was trying to go gray.  Kala shook her head and turned the water to cold, fumbling with one hand – once she would have marveled at their engineering, that they had mastered heating liquid in tubes.  Now she just splashed her face in the cold water, trying to make herself more alert.  Her throat hurt, but at this point it ought to.

 

_ End of a long day.  Get your clothes fixed and make sure Ra'kesh is all right and lie down.  Drakan-Ka can be just as destroyed tomorrow. _

 

Ra'kesh.  She had no energy left to recoil or shudder at the things he had said.  It was probably just as well.

 

Ra'kesh laid out all of the items on the table, checking the pockets of the extra clothes before going back to the bag.  He felt something hard inside, but the bag was empty.  He rolled the tiny object between two fingers, brow furrowing in curiosity.  Ra'kesh cut the lining away with his hunting knife, sliding the object from the hole and holding it to the dim orange light.  In his hand he held a round brass seal.  It was decorated with horn lilies around the edges and the center held a stylized letter, the seal of the house of Zael.  He recognized the letter zyr from his brief education.

 

He closed his fist around the seal, lowering his hand and head with eyes closed.  The mer had not lied.  Unexpected grief washed over Ra'kesh.  He growled at himself and quickly finished moving the daggers and food into his own bag.  He tucked the key and seal into his belt pouch.  Kala had grown quiet in the next room, but now she was running water.  He sat down again with a heavy heart, not wanting to face her.  

 

Kala walked out of the restroom, moving a little unsteadily, and went to check the Engine.  From the corner of her eye, over in the gray fog, she saw Ra'kesh sitting slumped against a wall, not far from the wrapped body of the Dunmer.  He had laid the man out very respectfully.  That was something, at least.

 

She fumbled her robe and undershirt off, standing with her naked back to the Khajiit in her linen pants, and shoved the scorched clothes into the Engine.  She hauled the door down with some difficulty.  Her fingers found the ignition lever, the switch marked UNLIVING, and then she threw the lever marked ACTIVATE.  Kala rested her forearm against the glass as she watched the lines of blue light dart over the clothes.  When she opened it to take them out they were clean, slightly warm, and perfectly intact again, no seam showing where the new fabric had been added on.  Getting them back on again was a bit of a chore.  Afterward she hauled the bedroll that they had used to drag the body over by the wall, letting it drop next to the Khajiit, and sat down with her back to the wall beside him.  Sitting down on something softer than the floor felt good.  She caught herself starting to slide down the wall and jerked awake, sitting up again.  She coughed once, trying to clear her aching throat.

 

“I'm going to have to sleep before we try with the ectoplasm,” she said, voice a hoarse whisper.  “You should, too, if you can.  Eat something.” She could not imagine eating.  Her stomach quailed at it.  “But before that I need to know something, Ra'kesh.”

 

He looked up when she came out, but when he realized she was not going to speak or look at him, he lowered his eyes to the hands in his lap.  He looked up in mild surprise when she sat down next to him, but Ra'kesh couldn't look her in the eye.  He stared down instead.

 

He did not answer when she spoke to him.  He didn't think sound would come out if he tried just then.

 

“Ra'kesh?” She rolled her head around to look at him.  He sat staring down at his hands, ears low.  His tail sat limp on the ground beside him, a thing she had almost never seen.

 

His eyes flicked up at her, not really connecting with her gaze before lowering again.  He cleared his throat.

  
  


“Yes? Ra'kesh will tell, of course.”

 

“Are they really -” her voice cracked.  She coughed and tried again.  “Are they really all the same to you? Magister Morayn, the neighbor's children, my father's armsmen?”

 

Ra'kesh thought for a long moment, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably.  He really didn't know.  He didn't hate Dunmer children, but sometimes he pitied them for the monsters they might grow up to be.  And Bulg's armsmen had all been decent, likable people.  Ra'kesh was quite certain Bulg would not employ anyone who was less than honorable.

 

Magister Morayn had referred to Ra'kesh, a Khajiit, as Kala's “family.”

 

“They remind Ra'kesh of a time in his life he does not want to think about,” he finally replied, speaking slowly and evenly.  “And the average mer does nothing about the injustices his people commit.  They accept without trouble, even if they themselves do not own slaves.  Usually only because they are too poor to afford one of their own.  Ra'kesh is not a person to most Dunmer.”

 

He still did not look at her.

 

Kala waited patiently, head resting on the wall, holding her swollen eyes open with an effort.  She watched him as she listened.  What he said was not untrue.  She still felt the guilt of her own decision to buy a slave, to serve herself at someone else's expense.  But this…

 

“And so hurting a bound enemy becomes right?” she asked quietly.  “Because he is Dunmer, and slavery belongs to the Dunmer?”

 

Ra'kesh scoffed at this, suddenly angry.  The dirty work had been foisted on him, and now she complained about it?

 

“No, it was right because we needed information from Dunmer.  He killed Veridael, does Kala forget? Did she think interrogation was sharing scones and asking nicely? If Ra'kesh showed himself to be of weak stomach, he would never get an answer.” His single golden eye glared at her, the tip of his tail thumping against the ground where it lay.  The anger dissipated in the next instant, and he felt only despair.  He looked away again.

 

Ra'kesh was the one who pushed for Denva to be resurrected.  Kala had forced nothing on him.  And she was right to be appalled by his brutality.

 

She looked back without moving, eyes on his eyes.  The tail was a sign of life.  It brought her no joy, but at least it was a relief.

 

“I do not forget,” she said when he had finished.  “I know what he was.  But understand -” She stopped to cough, pushing her shoulder up to cover her mouth.  It hurt all the way down, unexpectedly and sharply.  “I do not want this to happen again just because a prisoner makes you angry.  He tried to kill us, yes.  His death was necessary.  But he is not the one who hurt your family.  I can't watch you avenge yourself on any Dunmer who presents you the chance.  Not bound, helpless, at your mercy.  That is not how a man should die.”

 

“That is not what happened at all,” Ra'kesh said coldly, turning away so that his shoulder was to Kala.  Maybe Ra'kesh had taken out his anger on the man, but how did Kala expect him to die? They could not untie him.  Ra'kesh had given him the best death he could under the circumstances.  All Ra'kesh had to do now was shut up and promise it would never happen again, but that would be a lie.

  
  


She didn't understand reality.  A man like Denva knew how he would meet his end.

 

“Then tell me what did happen,” she said to his back.  “Help me to understand.”

 

Some moments in the earlier part of their acquaintance were rising into memory unbidden, ugly things quickly dismissed.  She had thought that she knew him.  She had also thought him incapable of the things she had seen tonight, thought that part of him was out of a skooma bottle and not the real person she had come to love.  If she kept pushing, would he turn and try to strangle her, claws across her face? If that did happen, what would she do? She contemplated it with horror and exhaustion.  Her magicka was not completely gone, but the thought of using it on Ra'kesh was no thought at all.

  
  


_ Foolish girl.  You've known him for what, a month now? Two? You know nothing about a person in that time, nothing at all. _

 

“Ra'kesh does not know,” He choked, shrugging a shoulder at her.  Did he have to be so forceful? Was there another way? In the heat of the moment he did what he thought he had to do.  Ra'kesh had to show strength, otherwise Denva would string them along forever.  He wasn't sure if it had been right, anymore.

 

_ You will lose her.  If Kala ever knew the awful things Ra'kesh has done, she would never look at him with love again.  There is no excuse for any of it.  Ra'kesh thought it was justifiable, but none of it was! You are nothing more than the beast Dunmer believe all Khajiit to be. _

 

He sank his muzzle into his hands, body curling inward.  He couldn't bear it.  He couldn't bear the burden of being who he was, he couldn't bear her eyes on his back, knowing him for what he was and judging him as he deserved.  He could not live if Kala hated him.

 

She was waiting for another angry outburst.  She did not expect him to crumple like a dying scrib.  Every fear melted as she watched him, and she struggled up to her knees to crawl around to where she was at his side again, reaching out to put her arm around him.  Her grip was weak but determined as she slumped back to a sitting position.

 

There were things inside him that he could not bring out into the light of day.  She was not sure how much of that she would be able to face if it came out in this way, sudden violence, untrustworthy temper.  But for now he was suffering, and that was a demand that she could not refuse.

 

“No, no,” she whispered, and coughed, and whispered again.  “I'm still here.  Sh.”

 

He flinched against her touch.  The gentleness of it made him feel sick, dirty.  It wasn't something he deserved.  Ra'kesh shrugged her away.

 

“He cannot, right now.” His voice was strained, not angry.

 

He was disgusted by his own behavior, acting like a kitten needing mothering.  He sat up straight and faced her again.  It was hard to keep his voice level when he spoke.

 

“Ra'kesh did what he had to do.  It will be easier to guard ourselves knowing the name of our enemy.  Ra'kesh could have snapped Dunmer's fingers or sliced off his ears to make him talk.  Being slammed onto the floor is not the cruelest thing a man can endure.  Kala can be unhappy about it if she wishes, but Ra'kesh may have saved her life this way, so he will not apologize.” He held her gaze with a stubborn conviction he did not truly feel, ignoring the hurt he saw in her eyes.

 

Kala was shocked as he shrugged her off, eyes widening.  She remained seated next to him for a moment, trying to decide between staying where he could see her and giving him more space.  She tried to keep the hurt and confusion from her face as he spoke, trying to force comprehension of the words.

 

“Saved my life,” she repeated slowly.  “Saved  _ my  _ life?” Kala got to her feet in stages – knees, one knee, one leg, finally planting the second foot awkwardly as she turned to pace along the wall, past the bedroll.  She leaned one elbow against the metal as the head rush caught up, almost pushing her under the gray tide.

 

Finally she turned back to look at him, nostrils flared, breathing in shallow jerks of her chest.

 

“I would rather die,” she said.  “A life bought at that cost is no life at all.” She paused to cough into her sleeve.  “Don't excuse this by saying it's for  _ my  _ sake.  I consented to his death and I am complicit in what you have done.  That is something I will never let happen again, do you hear me? Never.”

 

Ra'kesh watched her sullenly, ears flat against his scalp, cowed and ashamed.  Her words stung like a slap to the face.  He had no response.  They understood one another, and that was that.

 

He was about to excuse himself for another room - he needed space to think, to be alone - but a sudden realization softened his features.  He looked at her with concern when she was done, ears rising.

 

“Why is Kala coughing so much?”

 

“I'm not.” She waved it away.  He was trying to change the subject, and she was willing.  Obviously there was no agreeing with each other about it, he didn't want her to hold him, what else was there to do? “I'll go lie down over there, how about that.” She pointed to the other end of the room.  “It's been a long day, we're both tired, and what's done is done.” She rubbed her face.  Her throat throbbed.  “I still love you,” she said quietly.  “That is not in question.  I want you to know that.”

 

He looked at the ground, feeling even guiltier than he had.

 

“Oh,” he said, softly.  “He..  Well, he loves you also.” It was a weak statement that didn't begin to touch on the depth of his feelings.  He remembered the absolute peace and tranquility he'd experienced when he thought he was dying.  There had been things Ra'kesh needed to tell her, and now he had that chance.  But it wasn't the time for that tonight.  They were both exhausted mentally and physically.  His head was pounding from the stress.

 

“Take the other bedroll,” Ra'kesh said quickly, scooting over to claim the one Kala had sat beside him.  It was clean, but sleeping where a dead body had lain would disturb most people.

 

“Thank you,” she said quietly, and went to get the other roll without further argument.  She dragged it the length of the enormous room, away from tables and bathroom door and the most important Khajiit in the world.


	18. Chapter 18

Kala coughed a couple of times laying out the bedroll, but what did you expect when you spent an hour throwing up and then crying and then arguing? Probably it would be better tomorrow.  She fell over onto the stuffed sacking and did not so much fall asleep as let the gray roll over her, like a warm and heavy blanket.

 

The spiders came for Denva's body a few minutes later.  Four of them gathered around the corpse, poking at it with their little pedipalps as they prepared to carry it away.

 

Ra'kesh knew from experience he wouldn't be able to sleep no matter how tired he was.  Those smoldering red eyes would burn into his retinas every time he closed his own, so he didn't bother trying.  He sat down and waited for Kala's breathing to slow.  He needed something to dull the thoughts, but hadn't brought any alcohol.  After Kala fell asleep he would go for a walk.  Maybe he'd find something to drink and maybe he wouldn't, but either way Ra'kesh had to get out of that room.

 

When the spiders came his first impulse was to run over and kick them away, but that was stupid.  What was Ra'kesh to do, haul the corpse outside and bury it? Didn't Dunmer cremate their dead? That's probably what the spiders would do with it.  It was an empty shell now, it didn't matter what became of it.

 

The only part of Denva that mattered was probably trapped in a hellscape Ra'kesh could never begin to comprehend, day one of his immortal suffering at the hands of his chosen Prince.  Ra'kesh was only religious when it suited him, asking for things when he was desperate (which he seldom received) and never praying or offering thanks to the gods when times were happy.  It was laughable to expect Khenarthi to interfere in the affairs of a Daedra Lord on behalf of a bastard like Ra'kesh.

 

He did not want to watch the spiders, so Ra'kesh stood and went into the bathroom to splash water on his face and clean the blood off his fur.  By the time he was done the body was gone and Ra'kesh was free to walk the empty halls in silence, other than the thrum of the machinery and the tika-tika of little metal legs that scurried past every so often.

 

Ra'kesh never did find anything to drink.  He spent what felt like hours carefully checking every room, even though most of them had already been searched the first time.  The world started to grow fuzzy.  A few times he jolted awake, realizing he'd started to fall asleep while standing.  He didn't want to close his eyes, but he sat down in a stairwell, two flights up from the lowest level where Kala slept.  He would rest for a moment and then go downstairs to check on Kala.

 

Ra'kesh fell asleep leaning against the wall before he even knew what had happened.

 

Kala had no idea how long she slept, and she remembered no dreams; but she woke up coughing.  She sat up slowly, leaning over her lap as she let the fit pass off.  Her throat felt full of slime.   _ All right, so I've caught something.  This is not a problem.  I have potions. _

 

She got up and rolled up the bedroll, then carried it under her arm back to the end of the room where the tables and the knapsacks were.  She pulled out one of the vials marked with a white slash and downed it, then hunted through the knapsack for breakfast.  Ra'kesh was nowhere in sight.  He must have gone to sleep somewhere else in the ruin, desperate to get away from her.  The body of the Dunmer was gone, no doubt tossed into a lava well.  She wondered if the place where he now was was better or worse than that, and if she should feel bad about it.  She decided, as she combed her hair and tied it back in a loose tail, that she didn't have the energy.  Whatever his fate, it was probably not different than it would have been if he had killed them both and died years later, shot by a guard or fried by an unusually alert victim.

 

Her throat did not stop hurting.  Dried fruit scraped it painfully as she ate.  She frowned and hunted up one of her few and precious blight cures and downed that as well, then drank some water as she finished eating.  That didn't cure it, either.

 

_ What's wrong with me? It's not corprus.  Corprus isn't a cough or sore throat, and anyway I haven't been near anyone who had it.   _ She did a quick, paranoid check under her robes, but she found no lumps or lesions of the type that would characterize the incurable disease.

 

She drank a detection as well.  She didn't want to invade his privacy, but she needed to know he was all right.

 

He was not anywhere within the spell's range.  Kala jerked upright, heart pounding, as she realized the only signatures she could find around her were the low and obvious profiles of the spiders.   _ Calm.  Calm.  Maybe he's just out of range.  He told you he would never harm himself, remember. _

 

_ He would lie to make me feel better.  You know he would. _

 

She drank some water, gathered the knapsacks up close to the Engine, and headed for the door.  There was no knowing where he had gone, but at least it seemed likely he would not have gone far off the route they had traveled to get here.  She would start there.  She did not shout out, in case he was sleeping and she was just being stupid.  Waking him in an annoying way would not improve the strained state of relations.

 

Ra'kesh woke to a throbbing pain in his neck and back.  He was draped across the stairs with a step digging into his side.  He blinked tiredly at the orange glow and sat up straight, moving stiffly.  He had nodded off again, and it felt like it had been a while, but surely not longer than an hour.  At least he hadn't been able to dream in that time.

 

With a groan he pulled himself to his feet and started downstairs.  He paused at the whisper of shoes against metal, then quickened his pace.  He rounded a corner and jumped, coming face to face with Kala, fully dressed and alert.

 

“Why are you awake?” he asked.

 

She gasped as he came around the corner, then shut her eyes as she exhaled, resting one hand on the wall.  She wanted to put her arms around him, but he had rejected that the last time she had tried it.  She wasn't sure if he would welcome another attempt.

 

“Sorry.  I woke up and you were gone, and then I used one of the potions but I still couldn't see you.”

 

“Oh,” he said sheepishly.  “He accidentally fell asleep in the hallway.  He did not mean to.” He sighed, realizing it was probably morning and once again he'd made Kala worry.  Ra'kesh started back the way Kala had come, gently brushing her arm with his hand as he passed.  “You sound a little funny.  Is Kala okay?”

 

“Just a sore throat,” she said.  She turned to follow him back down, reaching out tentatively to touch his back.  “It's probably the dust.  You never know with these old places.”

 

The great room was much as they had left it.  Kala tried to remember why they had originally come.   _ To destroy the Engine, right.  Ectoplasm goes into the Engine, Dwemer comes out, hope the Dwemer knows how to do it, Recall us all out of here before the place blows. _

  
  


But her Recall point was in Suran now.  Her parents must never know about the argument or why it had happened.  Her heart sank at that thought; every secret she could not tell widened the precipice between them.  She wished she could just go back to Balmora instead, not see them at all when she was heartsick and ill.   _ I could go to the Guild, spend a few days bunking there, study and rest where it's safe.  I'm not putting anyone in danger at the Guild.  If anyone tried anything the Magisters would destroy them so fast there'd be nothing left but ashes. _

 

_ And then what about Ra'kesh? What if you leave him at the house and then something happens to him? _

  
  


She shuddered at that thought.  It was all academic anyway.  Her Mark was in Suran.

 

Ra'kesh turned to look at her as they walked.  The simple touch brought his barely suppressed emotions bubbling to the surface.  He couldn't bring himself to put his arm around her, although he wanted to.  He was so unworthy of her affection.  His fists clenched at his sides when they reached the Engine and he breathed deeply, readying himself to speak.

 

“Ra'kesh is ashamed of himself.  Not just for yesterday...  He regrets that it happened even if he stands by his actions.  But so many other things in his life, and what he said about Dunmer-” Ra'kesh sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “Never mind.  He should not have brought this up.  We will discuss it someday, but now we have to deal with this.” He waved an arm at the machine.

 

She turned to listen to him, steeling herself as he clenched his fists; but he was not trying to reopen the quarrel.  She relaxed gradually as she listened to him, then sighed.

 

“Thank you.  I didn't think you really meant it in the way that you said it.” She touched him again, gently, on the arm.  “Now we have to deal with this,” she agreed, then coughed.  “But first for the gods' sake eat something.  Please?”

 

She dug into the knapsack to find some meat.  “No carrots.  I promise.  Mainly because I ate them earlier.”

 

Ra'kesh realized that he was starving.  They never did have any dinner last night.  He sat at the table and tucked into his breakfast without having to be told twice.

 

“Does Kala know enough Dwemer tongue to communicate with the mer once he is here?” Ra'kesh asked between bites of jerky.  Eating had made his headache diminish.

 

She was relieved to see him eating.  Life went on.

 

“I can probably get across what I want him to do,” she said.  “I'm going to be speaking something I only know from the written tongue, so my pronunciation will undoubtedly be terrible.  Imagine someone saying to you, 'Parse me thee ka-nap sac-kuh' for 'pass me the knapsack' and you'll have an idea what I'm going to sound like to him.”

 

He frowned.  If they had planned better, they might have brought Loriand to translate for them.

 

“Ah, well,” he said with a shrug, balling up the empty paper the jerky had been wrapped in.  “We have all the time in the world for Kala to explain to him.  Is she ready to do it?” He was beginning to feel apprehensive.  Loriand was not considered an equal to the Dwemer, but a new Dwemer life may view them as inferiors and refuse to obey.  He had to be prepared to subdue or kill this mer if that was the case.

 

“Yes, I'm ready,” she said.  She felt that she had been delaying.  Kala was a Dwemer scholar at heart, and the idea of deliberately destroying so much history, so much knowledge, was a hard one.  But their reasons were sound, and the case was desperate; if the machine was allowed to exist it would at some point fall into the hands of someone like Zael.

 

_ When this is over I'm going to post him a letter from Dagon Fel with a map,  _ she thought vindictively.  If not for the distant Telvanni they would have been spared more than one painful experience, and she might never have quarreled with Ra'kesh.

 

Kala went to the Engine with the vial of ectoplasm from her belt and shook the glutinous blue-green stuff out into the inner platform, smothering a cough.  She shut the door, put the vial away, and turned to throw the switch to IGNITION, LIVING, and then, taking a deep breath through her nostrils, ACTIVATE.

 

The blue rays sprang to life, first focused on the little pile, then flinging out to trace the form of a body.  It was a little shorter than Kala, and as it began to take shape – bones, muscles, the network of veins and capillaries – it took on the form of a sturdy man.  His ears were pointed but short and his skin was as pale as some humans, without the tan or golden caste of Bosmer and Altmer.  His face was broad-boned, almost round; for the first time she thought she could trace a resemblance between Orsimer and another mer.

 

“No beard,” she said.  “We've always speculated that they were a sign of status.”

 

The machine traced a robe over the body, a simple construction of some dark fabric with a cloth belt.  Then the blue rays dissipated and the red sprang up, focused on the new Dwemer's forehead.  He began to breathe almost at once, but he went on twitching for some seconds afterward, eyes closed.  Kala watched intently, one hand on the window.  She would never see this teaching process again, and she wanted at least to remember it.

 

Finally all of the rays faded.  The new Dwemer opened his eyes – they were dark brown – and turned to look at the glass, first at Kala, then at Ra'kesh.  When he spoke it was in guttural Dwemer.  The words were muffled but comprehensible from inside the machine.

 

“He says 'One is ready to serve,'” she told Ra'kesh.

 

Ra'kesh stood beside Kala as she activated the machine and watched with fascination as the body formed in front of their eyes.  He did not regret that the machine would soon be destroyed.  Both times they had used it had been a mistake, and creating new life from unnatural means was a cruelty towards the person created.  He wished this had not been necessary.

 

Ra'kesh tensed with hand poised over his sword and visibly relaxed only when Kala translated the Dwemer's words.  He reached out slowly to haul open the door after looking to Kala for her consent.

 

She nodded to Ra'kesh, stepping back to allow the Dwemer room to emerge from the machine.  He climbed out carefully, testing the ability of each foot to hold his weight.  He looked around at the vast and empty chamber, then back at the two obvious non-Dwemer in front of him, frowning.

 

“<One is confused,>” he said.

 

“<It will be hard to explain,>” Kala said.  He blinked in startlement at her speech, as she had expected.  “<The Dwemer vanished during the Battle of Red Mountain, but left many machines behind, including the one that made you.  It is hundreds of years since the time for which you are made.>”

 

“<Hundreds of years,>” he repeated blankly.  Kala took note of the correct pronunciation.

 

“<Do you know how to destroy the Engine?>”

 

He nodded.  “<Yes.  There is a failsafe lest it fall into enemy hands.  But that would bring down all of the city, Milady.  The lava beneath will not be contained and everything will melt into it until it is filled.>”

 

“He says he does know how to destroy it,” she told Ra'kesh.  “He says it will unleash the lava wells and everything will sink into it.”

 

Ra'kesh listened seriously, although he could not understand.  He sighed in relief at the news.

 

“That is good.  No one will ever be able to repair it,” he said.  Like Kala, he was saddened at the loss of the city, but for an entirely different reason- all of the artifacts in this place would have provided wealth enough to live off for the rest of his life.  It would be impossible to take all of it with them.  “How soon before he can do this?”

 

Kala started to pose the question, then paused, realizing she did not have a name for the man.

 

“<Do you have a name?>” she asked.

 

“<No, Milady.  Masters would address me as Servant or Construct.  If there are many Servants then we would be given numbers,>” he said.  He seemed more disturbed that she did not know this than that she wanted to destroy the entire city.

 

Kala eyed him, biting one side of her lip.  She had never seen a Maormer in person, but the description of them was not unlike him, though he was short and stocky for that elven race.  He might pass for some sort of Maormer-Imperial half-breed, that would explain his short ears.  An Imperial name would pass muster in most places.

 

“<I would like to call you Valerian.  Is that all right?>”

 

“<Of course, Milady.>” He bowed.  “<One shall be called Valerian.>”

 

“<All right, Valerian.  How long will it take to destroy the machine and then the city?>”

 

“<The machine will pump up lava from the well and melt itself in about one minute from activation.  The city will take about an hour to finish settling after that, with small movements and shifts for days afterward.>”

 

“He says the machine will melt in a minute after it's told to self-destruct, and it'll take about an hour for the city to be destroyed after that,” she told Ra'kesh.  “I have the impression it will more sink and melt than explode.”

 

Ra'kesh nodded his understanding.  Dwemer had been paragons of efficiency, leaving nothing overlooked.

 

“Is there anything Kala wanted from here before we leave?” He touched her arm gently, knowing this probably wasn't easy for her.

 

She sighed, then coughed.  The newly-christened Valerian turned to look curiously at her, tilting his head.

 

“No.  Anything I would want would raise questions in any knowledgeable person who saw it.  I don't mind if you do, though.  Bear in mind it has to be small enough not to be seen by my parents, since we'll be porting into their front hall.”

 

“No, Ra'kesh is ready.  Although Bulg and Zulee are probably going to wonder more at the pale elf than anything else we might bring back,” he said dryly, eyeing the elf.  He stepped away to collect the bedrolls and bring the knapsacks over to the machine.

 

“Let's call him Valerian,” she said.  “It's Imperial and he sort of looks like a half-Imperial, half-Maormer.” She coughed again, rubbing her nose.  Valerian hurried to help Ra'kesh with the bags, bowing before he touched anything Ra'kesh was about to touch.  “I'm not sure how to explain why he and Loriand share a language no one else understands.”

  
  


“Er, thank you,” Ra'kesh said before remembering the Dwemer couldn't understand him anyway.  He found the subservient behavior unsettling.  To Kala he said, “We could ask them to only speak in private.  It could be dangerous for either if word gets around that supposedly 'simple' men are speaking a dead language.”

 

He pointed to the ground beside Kala to indicate where Valerian should drop their things.

 

“You're right.  But it leaves him with no way to understand what anyone else says to him, and Loriand's probably not capable of teaching him Common by himself.  Nngh.” She rubbed her nose again.  “Well, we created him, we're responsible for him.  I'll just have to stick around long enough to teach him myself.”

 

The Dwemer set the bags where directed, then turned to watch them impassively, hands in his sleeves.  When Kala had finished speaking he said,

 

“<Please excuse this one, Milady?>”

 

“<Yes, Valerian.  Please call me Kala.>” She felt that her pronunciation was already getting better through listening to his.  At least he looked progressively less pained as he listened to her.

 

“<Kala,>” he repeated, looking confused again.  “<One trusts that you have prepared an escape for yourself and Milord - >”

 

“Ra'kesh,” she said.

 

“<And Ra'kesh.  There will not be time to escape the city on foot.>”

 

“<I can teleport all three of us away, yes.>”

 

“<One should be left in case of malfunction of the Engine, Kala.  This ensures that nothing goes wrong, and you are not then burdened with a  _ ch'hatan _ .>”

 

She stared at him.  “He's offering to stay behind,” she said.  “To make sure nothing goes wrong.  Good gods.  Who would create a sentient being like this?”

 

“Very bad people,” Ra'kesh said.  “The gods wiped them off the face of Nirn for a reason.”

 

He thought for a moment.  He would have suggested that they go outside and watch the city to be sure it was destroyed, but one minute was not enough time to walk all the way to the surface.  They would just have to trust that it had been done.

 

“He will learn to be a person, as Loriand is slowly learning.”

 

Kala nodded.  She had always been fascinated by Dwemer lore and culture, but a claim to moral superiority was never valid when discussing that clever, arrogant race.  “All right.  We're ready?” She waited for Ra'kesh's assent before turning to Valerian and saying,

 

“<Set the machine to destroy itself, then come and lay your hand on my arm.  We will escape together.>”

 

She moved forward so that the knapsacks rested against her legs, reaching out for Ra'kesh's hand.  For this, at least, there could be no objection to her touching him.  Valerian bowed again, then turned to move his hands rapidly over the Engine's controls for a few seconds.  A loud buzzer went off, then became a repeating grind that seemed to get louder and louder.  He stepped back and turned to lay his hand on Kala's arm with a nod.  She made the gesture to cast her Recall.

 

Just as the world was beginning to dissolve, the Dwemer took his hand away.  When they materialized in the bright vestibule of the Nend manor house, he was not there.


	19. Chapter 19

A calico maid squeaked and puffed up when the pair appeared out of the blue, the carpet beater in her hands clattering to the floor.  Magery was not something she would see often living at the Nend plantation.

 

Ra'kesh looked around in confusion for Valerian.  He had not yet released Kala's hand.  Dread clenched around his heart when he realized what the mer had done.

 

“She will inform Sera and Serjo Nend that you have come,” the maid said, curtsying hurriedly after recovering from the shock.  She scurried for the large double doors, ran back to pick up her carpet beater, and left again, completely oblivious to the loss they had just experienced.  Ra'kesh could tell from the delightful aromas wafting in from the next room that it was breakfast time.

 

He looked at Kala with horror.

 

Kala raised her free hand.  “It's all right, Lirra, it's just us -” she stopped, looking around.  The Dwemer was not there, and she thought she remembered -

 

She looked up at Ra'kesh.  His eye showed the same realization as hers.

 

“He let go,” she said.  Part of her brain screamed  _ but he was just here,  _ but madness lay that way; there was no getting back to Dagon Fel in the next hour.  Even if there had been a Mages Guild there, it was two days' walk to the ruined city.  “Gods, he let go.”

 

Her hand clenched hard around Ra'kesh's.  For a moment she forgot that he had pushed her away yesterday, and she turned to try to bury her face in his shirt.

  
  


He pulled her into a tight hug, stroking the back of her head.  Ra'kesh didn't know what to say.  They didn't know the man, and he'd been alive for less than an hour, but it was a sickening feeling to know someone was dying and they could do nothing to stop it.

 

“There is nothing Kala could have done,” he whispered, feeling that it was a completely inadequate and cliched thing to say.  “She tried to take him.”

 

Kala's eyes were dry.  She felt that she still had no tears left.  But his touch brought her comfort, relief; and she squeeze him tightly as she sighed.

 

“I don't know what I would do without you,” she said softly.  She looked up at a soft footstep.  Armsman Delga was standing there tapping a fist against the dueling scar on his chin, theatrically going  _ ahem. _

 

“Begging your pardon, Sera, Serjo.  Serjo gro-Nend said I was to take your bags up, if you would like to join them for breakfast.  Or if you require refreshment first, please follow me.” He eyed the hole in Ra'kesh's shirt with professional curiosity, but did not remark upon it as he came forward to pick up the knapsacks.  He grunted once, but the weight did not appear to really inconvenience him as he headed up the stairs with a light tread.

 

“Thank you, Armsman,” she said to his retreating back, and coughed.

 

“Ra'kesh should change his clothes before we talk to Kala's parents,” Ra'kesh said, pulling away to look at Kala's face, but keeping his arms around her.  His brows furrowed in concern.  “Maybe Kala should drink a disease cure.  The cough has not left.”

 

“I have,” she said, looking up at him.  “Neither type worked.  Never mind, I'll talk to Magister Sharn about it.  We need to go back to the Balmora Guild anyway.  It's time you learned your first spell.” She tugged free reluctantly.  “I'll post a letter to Tel Zael before we go.  With a map.  I want him to know exactly what's happened and exactly how to verify it.”

 

“But how is this possible?” He turned to follow Delga up the stairs to the guest room, looking at her in confusion as they walked.

 

What could she have gotten sick from? The Clannfear? She had its blood all over herself, but Ra'kesh had never heard of an illness that couldn't be cured with potions- besides corprus.  He frowned.  It seemed unlikely she would contract corprus in such a remote location as Dagon Fel, and neither the Clannfear nor Denva seemed ill to begin with.

 

“I don't know,” she said, at the top of the stairs; she had to pause to breathe for a moment first.  “Maybe it's something new.  It's not corprus.  The symptoms aren't right, and I haven't been attacked by anything with corprus, anyway.  I don't know what I've been exposed to that you haven't.”

 

Ra'kesh thanked Armsman Delga again when he entered the bedroom, seeing the mer had set their bags near the wardrobe for unpacking.  He dipped his head politely and made sure that his tone was particularly kind.

 

She went to sit on the bed as he spoke to the Armsman, exhaling.  It was like waking from a bad dream; he was the Ra'kesh she had known and loved first.  It was hard even to remember the other Khajiit she had seen in Drakan-Ka.   _ But you know the other Khajiit is there,  _ she thought wearily.   _ It will never be exactly the same as it was. _

 

“Ra'kesh would bathe before going downstairs,” he said to Kala.  “He will join you in a bit...  Will Kala be all right?” He had washed the blood from his fur the night before, but not very thoroughly.  It would be good to have a complete soak.

 

“Oh yes, go on,” she said.  “I'll just go and say hello to my parents, and see how Loriand has been doing.”

 

When he had gone off to the bath she got up and went slowly downstairs, trying to clear the nasty stuff from her throat before she was where she would be heard.  The maids were tidying away the breakfast things, but her parents were lingering over their tea, side by side in the middle of the table.  As usual her mother was gesturing animatedly while her father approved or disapproved with minimal movements of his head.  They stopped when they saw her.  Zulee got up and hurried around the table as Bulg leaned back, frowning.

 

“Kala, there you are! Good heavens, I hope you got them, you look like you've been to the wars.” She hugged her daughter, then stood back holding onto her shoulders, looking her over narrowly.  “How did it go?”

 

“We were attacked by the assassin who was watching the estate, but Ra'kesh killed him,” Kala said.  She shrugged.  “I don't think the matter is permanently resolved.  I have a letter to write that might make a difference.”

 

“Was he with the Tong?” Bulg asked.  He got up and limped around the table to stand beside Zulee.  Kala shook her head.

 

“He had no writ.”

 

“Well, we usually have J'labo run the mail out to Suran.  He can take your letter this afternoon if you think you can have it done by then,” Zulee said.  “Where's Ra'kesh?”

 

“Having a wash,” Kala said.  “I can't keep that man in shirts.  He took an ice dagger to the chest and survived.”

 

Zulee laughed and slapped her on the back.  Bulg grunted approvingly.

 

“Do you know where Loriand is?” she asked.  “I'd like to tell him about it.”

 

“Norelius took him on patrol first shift,” Bulg said.  “Teach him the way with somebody in armor there while we're working on his.  He's agreed to stay on as an armsman.”

 

“Oh, Papa.” She impulsively hugged Bulg.  He grunted in surprise, then put an arm around her to squeeze her in return.  “It is good of you to have him.”

 

“Not really,” Bulg said dryly.  “Dangerous man, our Loriand.  I'd urge him to join the Legion if he were right in the head.  He's not really simple, you know.  That isn't it.”

 

“No, it isn't,” Kala agreed.  “But it's not easy to explain.”

 

“Mm.  Well, you can talk to him in an hour or so, when he's off and cleaned up.  Then make sure he goes to bed, will you? At least once this week one of the others has caught him up practicing when he ought to be sleeping.  Want me to have them send him to the library?”

 

“Yes, please, and yes, I will,” she said.  “Thank you both.”

 

“Did you eat?” Zulee asked.  “There are biscuits left and there's fresh jam.”

 

“Oh, I ate before we left this morning, but thank you.” She kissed her mother's cheek and went to the library, closing the door firmly behind her before she gave in to another coughing fit.  Afterward, inexplicably tired, she went to sit in an armchair facing the bookshelves.  In front of her were some volumes on the history of Orsinium, taking up almost a shelf all to themselves, full of important names and dates.  The letters on the binding were silvery and distinct, then blurry and gray.  She eased down, face resting against the high padded back, and forgot everything until footsteps woke her.

 

Although Ra'kesh felt guilty for thinking so, he was glad not to face Kala's parents just yet.  He didn't know how much Kala would tell them, and he couldn't ask her to lie.  It was better for him to just be away for the moment.

 

What would she do without him? Live without stress, Ra'kesh thought bitterly as he washed.  He lingered in the tub longer than he needed to, reluctant to face her and risk more painful questions he did not want to answer.  But the water grew cool and he couldn't procrastinate any more.  Kala assured Ra'kesh she still loved him, and she was acting normal towards him.  He ought to get over himself and do the same.

 

Dried and brushed, Ra'kesh came downstairs to an empty dining room and a cleared table.  He was dressed in fresh linen pants and another new shirt, this one patternless teal with an orange border around the keyhole-shaped collar and bottom hem.

 

He guessed Kala might be in the library.  He found her asleep in an armchair.  The seal from Denva's bag was in the palm of his hand.

 

“Kala?” he asked, gently.

 

Kala made a soft sound first, swimming up out of the gray, and then squinted her eyes open against unexpected light.  There was Ra'kesh, looking well-groomed and handsome in his new clothes.  She felt a bit dowdy for a moment as she tried to get her bearings, blinking at him.

 

“Oh,” she said, and sat up, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of one hand.  “Sorry.  Are you hungry? Mother said there are leftover biscuits in the kitchen.  There's probably eggs as well, I know they keep some roasting the day long.”

 

He rolled one shoulder.

 

“Ra'kesh ate jerky already, but maybe later.” He held out the seal to her, then sat down on the end of another armchair opposite hers, looking at her seriously.  “This was in Dunmer's bag, sewn into the lining.  We must assume another man will be sent.  Even when he sees that Drakan-Ka is destroyed, he might expect that Kala has further knowledge he would want.” He paused.  Kala looked quite tired for someone who had woken up only a few hours ago.  “Maybe we should seek a healer in Suran.”

 

Kala looked down at the seal, running her thumb over it as she coughed idly.  It was heavy in her hand, still warm from Ra'kesh's.  “Zyr for Zael… My plan was to write to him, send him a map and tell him to enjoy himself.  He can't possibly think I know how to build another machine, no one's ever successfully replicated Dwemer engineering on that scale.”

 

She glanced up at him in surprise when he suggested a local healer.  “I think the only one is in the Temple.  It's not a large city.”

 

There was a polite tap on the library door.

 

Kala was right, of course, but Ra'kesh could not forget how that Dunmer had called her by name.  This Zael must know where Kala lived and her guild affiliation.  He might have her killed out of spite.  Ra'kesh would never be comfortable knowing that a powerful man existed who could order Kala dead whenever he wished.

 

“The Temple healers are generally good, are they not?” He was about to make a crack about Dunmer religion, but bit his tongue.  His ears twitched at the knock.  “Yes?”

  
  


“Yes, admittedly -” She stopped, turning to the door.  Loriand nudged the door open and slid inside, then turned to bow.  He was wearing a gray linen tunic and pants with ordinary work boots, what she recognized as the unofficial off-duty uniform of her father's armsmen.  He still wore his hair braided back.

 

“I am sorry to interrupt.  Sarge said I was to come and find you.” He raised his head to look them over, eyes lingering on Kala's face as his brows pulled together.

 

“I wanted you to know that the Engine is gone,” Kala said.  “We used ectoplasm to create a Dwemer from the machine and asked him to destroy it.  He took his hand from my arm when we teleported and stayed behind.  I'm sorry.”

 

Loriand nodded slowly, moving further into the room.  “It would have been harder for him than for me.  I can pass for an Altmer.”

 

“Loriand  _ is _ an Altmer,” Ra'kesh said pointedly.  “The Dunmer watching the estate is dead.  Probably there is nothing to worry about, but stay vigilant.  Have things been well here?”

 

“Yes,” Loriand said.  “I have been out to check at random intervals of time, and I have not seen any -” He stiffened as Kala coughed.  For a moment he was incredibly still, not even visibly breathing.

 

Ra'kesh waited for the rest of the sentence, eyes narrowing at Loriand's odd behavior.  He glanced from Kala's weary face back to the elf.  An ear turned back.

 

“What is it?”

 

Loriand breathed, looking between them with a frown.  “I am sorry.  It's just that Veridael sounded exactly like that for a long time.  Almost as long as I knew him.  Is Kala ill?”

  
  


“A little,” she said.  “Since yesterday.  Potions don't seem to help.”

 

“They did not help him either,” Loriand said.

 

“When was it Veridael became ill?” Ra'kesh asked suspiciously.  He'd been under the impression Veridael had suffered some lifelong illness, but Loriand made it sound like it had begun after they met.

 

“He was weak all of his life, he told me,” Loriand said.  “He caught things easily.  It was why no one could tell that I was made from him, he always looked very thin and sick.  He began to feel sick while he was making notes on the Engine and it never went away.”

 

Kala looked from one to the other, hands resting the armrests, still holding the seal.  “How in the world could I have caught it, but not Ra'kesh? What did Veridael and I both do?”

Ra'kesh thought for a moment, staring at the floor.

 

“Both touched the machine,” he said suddenly.  Then his lip pulled back in a snarl.  “This is some merish trickery! The Dwemer cursed their machine to keep it from enemy hands.” His claws tightened against the armrest of the chair, his stomach twisting in dread.  Any clues about a cure that might lay in Drakan-Ka were being swallowed up by the lava as they spoke.

 

“Do you know if it could be that, Loriand?” Kala asked.

 

“I do not.  They left me with very little information other than how to fight and when to die.” He sounded apologetic.

 

“Mm.  Well, if it is a curse that would explain why disease cures do not affect it.” She rested her hand on Ra'kesh's hand, running her thumb over the fur as she tried to soothe his agitation.  “And a Restorationist is still the best bet in that case, but I think it would almost take a custom spell.  Did Veridael ever try that, Loriand?”

 

The Altmer shook his head.  “He believed it was a hereditary problem.”

 

Ra'kesh's tail thumped silently against the chair where it was draped beside him, but he relaxed his grip on the armrest.  Kala was fairly calm about the situation - too calm, Ra'kesh thought, but he shouldn't add to her stress.  He curled his fingers around hers.

 

“We should leave for the Temple now,” he said, scooting forward in his seat.

 

“All right.  It'll be a bit of a walk, so I suppose we might as well start.” She rose slowly, hand on the chair-back.

 

“I will come with you,” Loriand said.  “I am off duty.”

 

“Papa said you haven't been getting enough sleep,” Kala said gently.  “I give you no order, but it would be a better idea for you to go to bed.”

 

Loriand looked at Ra'kesh.

 

Ra'kesh held up his hands.  He would have smiled at Kala's mothering if he were in a better mood.

 

“A man must make his own choices.  Loriand can come if he wants.” He thought it was a good thing that Loriand was thinking on his own and not waiting for orders.

 

Ra'kesh watched Kala's slow movements, face tense with concern.  Walking five miles while sick would not be pleasant.  “Do parents have a guar?”

 

“Good heavens, Ra'kesh, I'm not  _ dead.   _ I can walk five miles to town,” she said.

 

“Yes, they do,” said Loriand, emboldened by his earlier success.  “They have four head of guar and two carts, in fact.  I have been informed that it is not ploughing season and they do not have enough to do.”

 

“Oh, I see how it is,” she said dryly.  She  _ did  _ find it funny, and smiled for just a second.  “I'm outvoted.”

 

And that was how they ended up leading a guar into Suran with Kala riding on it.  They drew the occasional curious eye for the oddity of the three races traveling together, more so because Loriand tended to attract stares in general; but the guard on the city gate waved them in with a casual greeting.  Kala managed not to fall off the guar, though it had been many years since she had ridden, and was forced to acknowledge the wisdom of the other two; she would not have been able to walk it on her own.  Even the effort of staying on guar-back made it hard to breathe, and she felt hot and cold all over by the time they had the Temple in view.

 

The wide-mouthed lizard was docile and well-mannered, thankfully.  Ra'kesh let go of its bridle when he was convinced it would not run away with his sick lover hanging on for dear life.  They tied it to a post outside the Temple courtyard.

 

The inside of the Temple was little more than a single room inside a large, high-ceilinged dome, the smoky scent of incense thick to Ra'kesh's nose.  His attention was immediately drawn to the ash pit in the center of the room, gray bone fragments protruding from the dunes of cremated remains.  Dried flowers and small trinkets had been laid on the rim of the pit as offerings to the ancestors.  It was a completely undignified and obscene treatment of the dead, of course.  The Dunmer paraded their necromancy under the nose of the Empire without anything being done about it, like so many things the Empire turned a blind eye to.

 

The walls of the circular room were lined with tapestries and engraved plates set on tall shrines, abstract and crude images of either saints or the Tribunal.  Ra'kesh did not know their names or care.  All of it was dimly lit with minimal candles.

 

There was a hall leading to a downstairs on the left, and a small alcove in the wall on their right with cushions and a lectern.  A Dunmer woman in a long, plain blue linen robe was kneeling in front of a shrine in silent prayer as they entered.  She finished her prayer before standing and turning to them, her face registering mild surprise at the motley group before settling on a welcoming smile.

 

“Three blessings upon you, travelers,” she said in a calm, pleasant voice.  “How can the servants of Almsivi serve you?”

 

Kala bowed politely, working on not tipping over forward.  Her cheeks were darkly flushed with fever.  She felt as if she were burning and freezing at the same time, skin prickling with every slightest touch of her clothes.  “Good morning, Sera.  I have contracted an illness that shows no symptoms of corprus, but does not respond to cures for blight or common diseases.  I caught it in a Dwemer ruin.  Is it possible you might be able to help?”

 

Loriand loomed silently behind her.  He also bowed, but he made no remarks other than a small nod.

 

The woman pursed her lips thoughtfully for a long moment before speaking.

 

“This is very unusual.  I have never heard the like.  Would you mind allowing me to cast the healing spells instead? The potion you used may have spoiled, or sometimes potions fail from the start because the ingredients were not as fresh as they should be.”

 

Ra'kesh knew that wasn't the problem, but he bit his tongue.  Better to let her attack the problem from every angle.

 

The woman, who soon introduced herself as Elynu Saren, tried several spells to no avail.  She moved gracefully, always touching Kala gently and with no sign of fear for catching the ailment herself.  She made Kala repeat all of her symptoms, nodding seriously as she listened.  It seemed to take forever, and of course there weren't any chairs in the place, just cushions to kneel on.

 

“I think I may have narrowed it down,” Elynu said finally, after the failure of several different spells and a quick refreshing with a magicka restorative.  She laid her hands on Kala's back and chest, a blindingly bright blue-white light diffusing from her hands to Kala's body.  The glow lasted longer than it usually did when Kala healed Ra'kesh.

 

Kala was grateful for those supporting hands in that moment.  She felt the power explode through her like a small sun, very much like being struck by lightning but without pain, only the feeling of intensity.  The seconds that it lasted seemed infinite, beyond endurance, and without Elynu holding her up she would certainly have fallen over.  As the light cleared the others saw her color even out gradually.  She took a deep breath and did not cough.  

 

“How do you feel?” Elynu asked in the same kind-but-concerned tone that never altered, withdrawing her hands.  Ra'kesh watched Kala hopefully.

Her voice, when she spoke, sounded more normal even to her own ears, and she straightened carefully where she knelt.

 

“Better,” Kala said.  “I think it must have worked.” She breathed again.  Her lungs felt clear.  “I think it has.”


	20. Chapter 20

Loriand had watched the entire proceeding patiently, without expression, standing back by the door.  It pained him that Veridael had died without ever experiencing this cure.  But would Veridael have survived if he had not been specifically ill? There were few defenses against being smothered in your sleep once a stealthy assassin was already in the room.  Loriand was able to line out the logic more cleanly than many people might have, and was comforted a little.  At least Kala seemed all right.

 

Ra'kesh's breath caught in his throat, waiting for Kala's response.  He exhaled heavily when Kala spoke, sounding like herself.

 

“Ah, thank you, thank you many times!” Ra'kesh gushed at the priestess.  He threw his arm around Kala's shoulders and squeezed.  Elynu just smiled politely with her hands clasped in front of her.

 

“I'm glad I could help.  Do come back if any symptoms return,” she said.  “Now, for a custom healing spell, plus the normal fee..  I must ask 200 drakes for this.” The pleasant smile and calm voice had not changed.

 

Kala squeezed Ra'kesh back, relieved.  She grinned at the priestess.

 

“Yes, of course.  Hang on.” She counted out the fee from her purse.  It was half as much as the upper Levitation and most custom Destruction spells would cost her.  She was actually a little surprised it wasn't more.  “Thank you again, Sera.” She poured the drakes into the Dunmer's cupped hands.

 

The guar was patiently waiting outside, huge floppy tongue occasionally slapping about its mouth as it tried to catch flies.  It made a purry, grumbly noise as they unhitched it from the post to start the walk home.  Kala felt no inclination to ride.  She felt more awake than she had for two days.

 

Ra'kesh felt incredibly unburdened with that problem solved.  He hadn't realized he'd been developing another headache from the stress until it was gone.   _ Good riddance to Drakan-Ka and all its evils, and may it never trouble us again, _ he thought.

 

“We should leave for Molag Mar before Balmora,” he said as they approached the estate.  “The Dunmer had a key.  He told Ra'kesh it unlocks apartment in Molag Mar just before he...died,” Ra'kesh said to Loriand, growing somber as he remembered both deaths.  He tried not to think about it.  “It would be better if Kala sends her letter to Zael after we do this, so he is not alerted to the death of his man too soon.  He might send someone to the apartment to take whatever it is.”

 

Kala nodded reluctant agreement.  “Loriand, I think it's probably still better that you continue to stay here.  At least you're safer here and we won't present a unified target if he decides to be petty about this.”

 

Loriand grunted noncommittally.  She knew full well that his own safety was probably still not a primary concern of his.  After they had met he had argued for his own death as a practical consideration, and she was not sure how much of that morbidity was still with him.

 

She felt renewed energy.  The Engine was gone, and one way or another that weight was lifted.  She felt strange resentment toward an inanimate object, for what it had done to divide her from Ra'kesh.  Though she still regretted the loss of so much knowledge, she felt that they had done rightly in keeping its power out of other hands.

 

“But you still need a healing spell,” she said.  She waited for the armsman inside to open the gate for them, then thanked him politely as she preceded the others inside.  “If we're not going to Balmora… Maybe I should try to teach you the first one I learned.  If it works we should both only need an hour or so to recover.  If it doesn't work it's no real harm.” She did not explain to him that there was a good reason why teaching spells through touch was a skill usually restricted to the Guild's higher-ranking members and the occasional savant like Ajira.  The ability to focus down narrowly enough to sense your own magicka, sense the other person's magicka, and simultaneously hold and transfer the pattern of the spell was one of the more difficult ones in the practice of the art.  She felt that attempting to give him her poison spell – which he would not be able to cast anyway – would be an actual danger to them both, but Hearth Heal should be safe enough that failure would do no real harm.  And he had used enchanted objects, so he had a basic level to channel power already.

 

Ra'kesh nodded in agreement.  He would have liked formal training, but they really couldn't put off the trip to Molag Mar.  Whatever was waiting for them there had been important enough to consume a dying man's last thoughts, and it might even be something which could give them leverage over Zael.

 

_ Or it might be a trap _ , he thought.  A booby-trapped apartment, Denva's final revenge against his killer...  All the more reason to know a heal.

 

“If Kala is feeling well enough, we could do that today, and leave tonight or tomorrow?” He wasn't sure how exhausting a simple heal would be to transfer, but they had the entire strider journey to rest.

 

“Yes,” Kala said firmly.  “But in our room, so that it doesn't scare the maids.  Thank you for coming with us, Loriand.  Go to – that is, I really think you should go to bed.  Please?”

 

“I will take Bloofer back to his stall first,” he said.

 

“Thank you.  That's very kind of you.” The Altmer nodded and turned off toward the outbuildings without another word, leading the guar by the bridle.  His shoulders stooped slightly as he got further away.  Kala sighed as they turned toward the manor house.

 

“Now he knows that Veridael could have been made well.  That has to be hard.”

 

Ra'kesh watched the mer for a moment, ears drooping sadly, remembering his own elation when Kala was cured.  Loriand hadn't said anything then.

 

“Yes..  It must be.” He followed Kala inside and upstairs in silence, reaching up to toy with the silver amulet under his shirt.  Wearing something that had belonged to a Daedra worshiper made his skin crawl, but it would be foolish not to utilize such a useful enchantment.  Why would anyone worship a being who would torture them in death? Or did Denva not realize what his afterlife would be like until he had died? Ra'kesh knew little of Oblivion, only stories he did not trust.

 

“Erm, Kala,” he said from behind her on the stairwell.  “Where do Orcs go in death? Is it not Ashpit?” He couldn't imagine a realm named such would be pleasant.  Ra'kesh was suddenly afraid.  Would they be separated in death?

 

Kala glanced over her shoulder.  She supposed with all that had happened, it was not an unreasonable question.

 

“Those who serve Mauloch go to the Ashpit.  Those who serve the Nine Divines go to Aetherius,” she said.  “Mauloch cannot claim those whom the Aedra will have.  My grandparents are not together now.  Grandfather kept to the old ways, but my Grandmother was the first to join the Imperial Cult.  Her name was Nend, my father's mother.  My parents took her name as their surname together in the Imperial style.  My mother's parents were very traditional, I've been told, although I never met them.  They lived in Cyrodiil.” She rejoiced in how easy it was to climb the stairs now, a little thing that she had not noticed when it was hard.  “So if you follow the traditional Monomyth like most Khajiit, you and I should end up in the same place at the last.  It's basically the same religion even if we see the aedra a little differently.”

 

Ra'kesh was relieved to hear it.

 

“Yes, this is what he was taught.  But Ra'kesh cannot understand Daedra worship.  Most are foul tricksters.  Maybe two or three of them are not so bad, but to pledge one's soul to them...  Who would want to dwell in Oblivion for eternity? How could Kala's grandfather love a Daedra more than his wife?” His hand dropped from the amulet, following Kala into the bedroom.  He sat down at the edge of the bed, looking troubled.

 

“I haven't known a lot of worshippers of other daedra,” she said.  “I mean the Tribunal Temple can still have you locked up or deported if they find out.  With Orcs it's different because of where we came from.  With other people I guess it must be because they've had a bad experience with the religion they grew up with? Or else they really want a kind of power they can't get any other way.”

 

She sat down beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder for a moment, savoring the warmth.

 

“I’ve heard  Azura's plane is lovely enough.  But the others? Coldharbour, the Shivering Isles, the Scuttling Void? I can't imagine wanting to go there unless you were mad or desperate.  With my grandparents they grew further apart as they grew older.  Grandmother really believed in the Empire, felt that Orcs had a responsibility to uphold it if we want to live here.  Grandfather always hoped one day they would go back to Orsinium.”

 

Ra'kesh smiled and took Kala's hand in his.  It was easy to forget they had ever quarreled.  She never ceased being the sweet and gentle woman he fell in love with.

 

“He can understand Grandfather's need for his homeland.  Ra'kesh always said he would return to Elsweyr someday, but he supposes he can continue to tolerate Vvardenfell to be with Kala.” He patted her hand with his other.  “Now, how do we begin? Ra'kesh fears he may be too silly to learn magic, but he must try.”

 

“You are not silly,” she said firmly.  “Just try and feel the magicka the way you do when you use your Jump amulet.” She took a deep breath, firming her grip on his hand, and began to concentrate on the spell.  She had not cast Hearth Heal for a while, but she had cast it many, many times before she acquired her later healing spell.  She could feel the shape and pattern of it, like a constellation of blue stars occupying the same space that she occupied, dim blue light in her hands; and she could feel the shape of Ra'kesh beside her, barely awakened, a dim white star.  She did not know how the Guild's ranking members managed ever to do this inside a Guild full of other spellcasters.  It must come with great experience.  To open the senses to a room filled with Magisters would otherwise be like opening your eyes directly into the afternoon sun.

 

“Nearly there,” she murmured.  If she worked at it she could imagine that blue energy coalescing into one thing, one place, flowing into the hand that held Ra'kesh's.  She felt resistance as she tried to push it into his hand, from her body into his; and then it went all at once, like dropping a penny into a well.  It was a feeling like being hit with a fatigue drain for about two seconds, power going out from her.

 

Ra'kesh waited, wondering if he was supposed to do anything or feel anything.  Then, he felt something.  It was a vague awareness of power, similar to what he felt when he touched an enchanted object, but the sensation came from Kala's own body.  And it was enormous, he realized, eyes widening.  His little jump amulet was nothing compared to the well of magicka that was Kala.

 

Warmth and unseen light flowed from her to him, the alien sensation almost making Ra'kesh tear his hand away.  That power bubbled up inside his own body, threatening to overflow the smaller vessel into which it had been poured, then slowly receded.  Ra'kesh knew that something had changed, something was there at the edge of his consciousness, a shadow moving in the corner of his eye that he could never quite see.  The well of power beside him had diminished, and he felt his own shallow well where none had been before, even smaller and weaker than that of his amulet.  Ra'kesh inhaled sharply.

 

“Well,” he said slowly.  “That was...  strange.  He thinks it worked, but how is he to know?”

 

"It's normal for it...to be strange." She breathed for a moment, hand in his, then reached over to stroke the fur on the back of his hand with her other one.  She had felt him stiffen, but to his credit, he had held on.  It had been easier than she had expected, but she was tired.   _ I am no Magister. _

 

“Give yourself a few moments to integrate with the spell,” she said.  “Even a small one needs to sink in before you try to cast it.  Think about healing and what it will be like to heal yourself.  Imagine the gesture or movement that you want to use and repeat it in your own mind a few times.”

 

Ra'kesh closed his eyes and tried to capture the memory of what it was to be healed.  Soft blue light, a refreshing tingle of magic washing over his body, the slight warmth as wounds pulled together.  All of that was inside him now, part of him.  Ra'kesh imagined himself, splaying his fingers from a closed fist and releasing that healing light, the power draining from his body as he did.

 

He opened his eyes and held up his free hand.  He knew the power was there, ready to come out.  Ra'kesh unfurled his fist.  Tiny blue-white lights puffed from his palm and fizzled out as they fell.  At the same time he felt his well of power drain away to nothing.

 

“He lost it! The power is gone!” Ra'kesh panicked for a second, then realized his stupidity.  His magicka would need to fill up again.  He looked sheepishly at Kala.  “He almost had it.”

 

Kala watched him, straightening her back.  She could feel the attempt and feel it fail; it was always odd to be this close to another spellcaster while they were working now.  She had been completely used to it when she was an apprentice.  Now she grinned at him.

 

“It's normal for it not to work the first time.  You have to be willing to try it again every time you wake up until it works.” Or spend potions and keep trying it for hours at a time, but to do that you had to have access to a chest full of guild potions or be willing to camp out in a daedric ruin.  She patted him.  “The spell is now a part of you.  You've got it, it just takes practice.”

 

Ra'kesh looked at his hand in wonderment, then back to Kala.  A grin spread over his face.  He was tired in a way he'd never known before, but excited that the transfer had worked.

 

“Kala is good teacher.  Ra'kesh will be slinging spells and frying bandits in no time.” He put a hand on his chest, sitting up straight in mock arrogance.  Then he grew serious, shoulders slumping again.  “Do not tell Bulg.  Ra'kesh must work hard to impress him.”

 

Kala put her arm around him, snorting.  “My father needed years to be reconciled to the idea of me being a mage.  He would be  _ less  _ impressed with you if he knew you were learning spells.  Don't worry about it.  Anyway, you've gained some credit by taking a knife to the chest and surviving.  Orcs love that.”

 

She sounded proud.  She  _ was  _ proud.  Whatever his other flaws, Ra'kesh was brave, and Ra'kesh was tough.  There was no enemy so deadly that he would not throw himself at them face-first, kill, and survive.  Even if he might only have outlived them a few minutes without healing, that was something.

 

_ And you probably didn't get to be that way without being hardened up over time, either.   _ That deflated her a little, but she was not ready to argue with herself about it.  That got nobody anywhere, and why should she upset both of them?

 

“Oh, that? It was a pinprick, really.” Ra'kesh was grinning cockily again.  He stood, giving Kala's hand a brief squeeze before releasing it, and walked over to the window.  He pulled aside the drapes to look outside.  An adamantine-clad armsman was patrolling along the wall far below, while a group of servants carrying baskets crossed the lawn heading for one of the outbuildings.  They moved unhurriedly under the warm sun.  The land was green and beautiful and carefully tended, unlike much of Vvardenfell.  He hated to leave.

 

“Such a boastful Khajiit is mine.” Kala watched him idly, leaning back on her hands as the sun outlined his head in a halo of fur.  

 

“Ra'kesh does not mean to rush Kala away from her family.  When does she wish to go?” he asked, letting the fabric fall against the window again as he turned back to her.

 

She sighed at his question.

 

“I would wish to stay a month, but I think it is best we go tomorrow.  I don't know how long it will take for Zael to realize his assassin is dead, or if he knew about Molag Mar, or what we will find there.  As much as I would like to just hide here, delay does not serve us.  I should not have left a Mark here.  The more my parents are involved in any of this the worse it will be for them, and it will upset them if we keep coming back here in worse shape.” Their talk had been chipper enough, but she knew her parents; they would be talking between themselves about what she was doing and what sort of trouble she was really in.  Best that she move away and let them get on with their lives, enjoy the time they had left together.  It was fewer years than she liked to think about until her father would be sixty, and then they would begin talking again about where to seek their last battle.

 

“The same with Loriand.  If we're not constantly in front of him he won't constantly feel divided between guarding this place and trying to guard the two of us.  Being my father's armsman is undoubtedly the best thing that could happen to him.”

 

Ra'kesh listened, lips pursed thoughtfully.  He paced idly back towards the bed, hands clasped behind his back.

 

“Ra'kesh hopes that after this, things will settle down and we will not be running to your parents for help.  But help in time of need is what family is for, yes? Kala may think she is shielding them, but they would want to know if their daughter is in trouble.” He sat beside her again, not so close that he could not look her comfortably in the eye.  “Do not take this the wrong way: Kala does not know what it is to be without them.  Family is precious.  She must be a part of their lives while she can, and allow them to be part of hers.” He looked away, sadly.  Kala didn't know how lucky she was to have a place to return to, and people to welcome her.

 

“I'm sorry.  I suppose you're right.” She reached up to touch his cheek gently.  Her parents were not helpless people, alone in the world; and she had not suffered the loss that Ra'kesh had -

 

“Oh.” She lowered her hand.  It had been so long since he had spoken of his family, and then he had been angry, snapped at her about it.  She had dropped the subject.  But that had been back when she was afraid to touch him, still believing that she felt something that could not be returned.

 

“Ra'kesh, once you told me that your sister might still be alive,” she said.  “Do you remember that?”

 

His ear twitched at the touch.  Ra'kesh would have scolded himself for being so overly sentimental, but he could be this way around Kala alone.

 

“Yes, he remembers.  He thinks of her every time he sees slaves.” He sighed.  There were a lot of them out in the Isles, beyond these walls.

 

“Dra'viji's younger sister was sold once,” Kala said.  “My father found her and bought her back.  If he knew your sister's name and description he might be able to at least have some research done.  It's easier with Khajiit than Argonians because slavers often don't give them new names.” She watched him carefully as she spoke, wary of sudden bitterness.

 

Ra'kesh was staring at something very far away, his ears pulled to the sides and brow furrowed in apparent confusion, trying to process what Kala was saying.

 

His sister was a scab he picked at every now and then, never allowing it to heal.  He'd never really tried to find her after coming to Vvardenfell.  The enormity of the task threatened to suffocate him whenever he thought about beginning.  The crushing guilt and bitter sense of helplessness followed.  Ra'kesh tried not to dwell on it.  He'd sometimes gone months without doing so, and felt all the more ashamed for it.

 

“Her name is Fasai,” Ra'kesh began, slowly.  “She is Suthay, white with gray stripes.  He cannot...” His mouth opened and closed.  He could barely remember anything else, and that hurt terribly.  “She must be..  25, or no, 26..  He is not sure.”

 

He had been awful to Kala last time they spoke of her.

 

She watched him quietly as he spoke.  Subtler shifts in his expression sometimes still eluded her, but the ears always told.  She reached out to gently touch his arm.

 

“A white Suthay with gray stripes is not so common,” Kala said.  Of all the seventeen breeds of Khajiit, most were shades of brown, orange and tan, or less often black and gray, colors that would blend in with their native desert environment.  A white Khajiit would be conspicuous in Elsewyr, hardly less so in Vvardenfell.  “At least that makes it easier.  Thank you.”

 

She left out the thought that had probably occurred to him already and many times over, that a Khajiit of unusual appearance would be much more likely to be sold either to a rich household as a conspicuous evidence of their wealth, a house slave; or to a private individual as a concubine.  It was not impossible that she would have ended up in a life of manual labor, but it was less likely.  Kala's thoughts ran back to the day she had bought Ra'kesh, the black-on-white spotted Khajiit in the display cage, and she shivered.

 

“I'll ask an armsman where he is.” She got up and turned toward the door.

 

Ra'kesh lifted his head to watch her go.

 

“Thank you,” he said quietly.  He tried not to feel hope.  Bulg ostensibly had connections to the Legion that would aid him in a search, but Ra'kesh doubted very much he could get much information from the uncooperative Dres and Telvanni, who collectively owned the majority of slaves.  And Fasai had originally been sold so many years ago that a record may not exist anywhere, unless she had changed hands recently.

 

But Kala was trying, and Ra'kesh was thankful for this, even as he told himself it was futile.  It was more than he could do alone.

 

Kala found Bulg in his study, directed there by one of the maids, who regarded her with awe.  Apparently she was now a powerful wizard capable of uncanny deeds.  She smiled at that thought as she opened the door, but let the expression fall away as she remembered her errand.

 

"Yes?" he said, looking up from the desk.  The room was furnished in the Imperial style, one round rug, one wooden desk and a lot of plain shelving.  The healthy potted fern by the window was probably at her mother's insistence.

 

"I'm sorry to interrupt you," she said.  He had some sort of paperwork in hand.

 

"It's nothing that can't wait, just some accounting that needs checked over." He laid it aside and gestured at a chair.  "Well, come on, girl.  What is it?"

 

"It's about Ra'kesh's family," she said.  "Most of them were killed in a raid when he was very small, but his sister was taken as a slave to Morrowind.  He's looked for her all his life, but of course it's nearly impossible to find someone under those circumstances.  I was wondering if you might be willing to ask around for me? I know it's still not very likely.  She might even be dead."

 

Bulg nodded, hands resting on the desk in front of him.

 

"So it's not a case like Zharra's."

 

Kala shook her head.  "She was a teenager.  She would be 25 or 26 now, he says.  Her name is Fasai, a white Suthay with gray stripes."

 

"Well, that's a good description, anyway," Bulg said, taking up another paper to write with the same quill.  "I can't promise anything, but I'll ask around, and I'll ask my men and their families to ask around.  Sometimes the servants have ways of asking other servants that their masters don't even know."

 

"Thank you, Papa.  It would mean so much to both of us."

 

"How long are you staying this time?" he asked.

 

"We will go tomorrow to Molag Mar.  I'm afraid it's likely we may be in and out over the next while, Father, if that's all right.  I know it is a bit of a disturbance to the household, and I could set my mark in Caldera if - "

 

"Bah," said Bulg, waving a hand dismissively.  "Come and go as you wish.  We've wanted to see more of you than we do, you know.  Especially with all of this nonsense with assassins and thugs, we like to know that you're all right."

 

Kala exhaled.  "Thank you.  That's very generous."

 

"Family is family, little one." He had not called her that since she was four.  Impulsively she got up and went to kiss the side of his head.  He harrumphed at her and put an arm around her waist for a second, then waved her off.  "You're a good girl, and I'm proud of you even if you did go off and become a spark-thrower."

 

"Thank you," she said, smiling, and went out with a lighter heart.


	21. Chapter 21

Ra'kesh paced back and forth in front of the window while Kala spoke to her father.  Kala's parents had given them shelter from assassins, a home for Loriand, supplies for their trip, and now Ra'kesh was assigning Bulg work on his behalf.  Bulg and Zulee were obviously happy to have them, but Ra'kesh couldn't help feel that he was imposing.

 

He snapped to attention when Kala entered, ears raised expectantly.

 

“How did it go?”

 

“It went fine.  He'll ask around and have his people ask around,” she said.  She went to kneel by the knapsack and take off her potion belt to refill it.  Who knew what was waiting in Molag Mar? “I don't know what the odds are after so many years, but at least there's a chance.  When your servants are paid they're willing to do more for you when it comes to looking for information, and they all talk with the people from the other estates when they're shopping or off-plantation.  You just never know.”

“He sees.  Thank you, Kala.  This means very much to Ra'kesh,” he said earnestly, breathing a sigh of relief.

 

_ Do not hope too much.  It will still be a while before anything comes of it, if at all. _

 

Ra'kesh watched Kala fiddle with her potions, and decided to take stock of his own supplies.  Two poison cures and three life detects were left.  His last heal had been used outside Drakan-Ka, so Ra'kesh asked to take a few more of hers.  He could not rely on his healing spell just yet.

 

“Ra'kesh ought to get a potion belt as well,” he remarked, sliding the three red-marked bottles into his pouch.  “Carrying them in this is not helpful in battle.” He would look into it next time they were in a large city.

 

They were called to dinner shortly after.  Ra'kesh was glad to see everyone again, and personally thanked Bulg for his help at a time when most everyone was occupied by their own conversations.  He didn't want to draw too much attention and sour the happy mood at the table explaining his sad history.  Loriand seemed better rested.  They all talked pleasantly, knowing Kala and Ra'kesh would leave in the morn, and retired shortly after sunset.  Ra'kesh told them of Denva's first death, acting his usual cocky self and hiding the guilt behind a comical grin.

 

Ra'kesh dreaded sleep.  Even inside the guarded walls of the estate, where their problems seemed so far away, he knew he could not close his eyes without facing an accusing red glare, without hearing the tired, weary voice of one completely broken and ready to accept his fate.  The Nend family did not seem to be big drinkers, and he couldn't just ask for it when they knew Ra'kesh to be of addictive personality.  Ra'kesh sat on the bed, shoulders stooped tiredly.  He stared at the tiny sliver of moonlight on the floor beneath the curtained window while listening to the rustling of Kala's movements as she readied herself for bed somewhere behind him.  He had not begun to undress.

 

“It's a good idea,” Kala said, watching him put away the three red-dots.  She had never expected to make the use of her own belt that she did.  Originally she had bought it because it was easier to carry all her restoratives for a long trek when she was out collecting.

 

It amused her for a while how much better he was at the social game than she.  He seemed to know what to say, and to whom, lacking the awkwardness that had often kept her silent at table.  Everyone enjoyed his stories and was impressed by his prowess.  Zel looked envious; he had not done a tour as a Legionnaire as Bulg and Kord had, urged to stay home at the forge while his brother was serving at Frostmoth.  Kala was teased for getting zapped immediately, but she took it in good part.  It was all right for it to be funny now, with Ra'kesh sitting there handsome and healthy in his eye patch and new shirt.

 

She was in her linen underclothes and combing out her hair before bed, looking into the little mirror behind the pitcher and basin, when it struck her that he was unusually quiet.  She looked around into the reflection until she found him sitting slumped on the edge of the bed.

 

“What's wrong?” she asked, turning as she set the brush down.

 

He glanced over his shoulder at her.

 

“Ah, nothing important.  Ra'kesh is not used to a sober mind.” He gave a lopsided smile and pantomimed throwing back a bottle.  “This...  being fully aware of every worry and every bad memory is not something he is used to.”

 

Ra'kesh stood up to unfasten his belt and slip out of the pants.  They both needed their rest for tomorrow, so he'd just have to get over it.  He had a whole life of sobriety ahead of him, for better or for worse.

 

Kala moved over to crawl onto the bed, ending up leaning on one hand with her weight on one hip.  She watched the pants come off, tail swinging free of the waistband.  A thought occurred to her that had occurred to her several times in the last two weeks.  Tomorrow they were leaving for Molag Mar, and who knew how long it would be before they slept again in a safe place?

 

“Well,” she said, and cleared her throat.  “I could rub your neck.  Or your footpads.  Some people find that relaxing, I've heard.”

 

Ra'kesh peeled off his shirt and finished folding the things on top of the bedside table, laying the amulets and eye patch on the clothes, and was left standing only in his undershorts.

 

“....You could rub his neck,” he said, hesitantly, sitting down again with his back to Kala, looking over his left shoulder at her.  No one had ever offered to do such a thing.  He was finding that sex and intimacy were two completely different things, and intimacy was something new to him.

 

Kala scooted over to him, rising up on her knees – he was tall enough that sitting down she would not be able to easily reach.  She laid her hands on his shoulders slowly first, in case he should twitch or flinch.  She remembered for how long it had bothered her for anyone to touch her shoulders from behind.  She pushed one hand gently through the fur at the base of his neck, testing.  Her hands were warm.

 

His muscles were tense when her hands first touched, but any fear of awkwardness soon fled under the pleasurable kneading.  He melted into her hands, purring softly, ears sinking as he relaxed.  They had not been able to sleep together the past three nights, and Ra'kesh realized he had missed being close to her this way.  And after tomorrow, gods only knew when they would get another chance...

 

He twisted around, catching her hand in his, and smiled in a way he thought might be seductive, but was probably just goofy with his arched brow and flash of yellow-tinged fang from beneath mostly closed lips.  He kissed the top of her hand and looked up at her with false coyness.

 

“Has the lovely Kala meant to seduce him?” he purred.

 

Kala's heart skipped a beat as she looked into that golden eye.

 

"Yes," she said, reaching forward and down.  "Yes I did."

 

“OH,” was all Ra'kesh said to that.

 

Their lovemaking was somewhere between the wild passion of their first time and the slower paced, more gentle coupling they'd had in the bathroom after, each taking the time to explore the other in greater depth.  They stayed up later than they probably should have, but there was always the silt strider for napping.  Ra'kesh found it easy to fall asleep in the haze of post-coital bliss, snuggled against the warm body of his little Orc.

 

There was something special about sleeping curled up against someone with fur.  Kala supposed not that many people had tried it, or conversely, Khajiit were very fond of it themselves.  Otherwise there really should be many more interracial couplings than there apparently were.  She slept deeply and dreamed of horn lilies, not the tame potted plants of Mournhold that she had seen once on a student trip, but tall green leaves swaying in an endless field, purple blooms open to the sky.  Many-colored butterflies flitted between the blossoms, and a hawk glided overhead and far away, black against the bright sun.

 

It was a place that she had never seen, and probably a place that was not real.  She woke refreshed all the same.

 

Ra'kesh woke in a better mood than he had since beginning their second journey to Drakan-Ka.  Whatever lay waiting in Molag Mar couldn't possibly be worse than what they had been through.  He was beyond the stupid mistakes and carelessness that had brought them this far.

 

He could once again feel a vague sense of power within himself - had it always been there, and Ra'kesh only recently realized it? Like the currents of air against his whiskers or the creaks of a house amidst the noises of day, it was hard to notice unless he was looking for it.  Ra'kesh was sure he could harness that power, but when he opened his palm to release it, a little spark of blue light flickered into and out of existence faster than he could blink.  With that disappointing release, the last of his magicka had drained away.  Ra'kesh stared at his empty palm glumly, but Kala assured him he would get it eventually.

 

They packed and said their farewells without much fuss - after all, they'd probably be recalling back to the manor before they returned to Balmora.  It would cut down the travel time that would otherwise be spent on a strider, and Ra'kesh was happy for that.  The ride from Suran to Molag Mar was nerve-wracking.  The strider had to keep close to the shoreline for almost the entire trip, and Ra'kesh could feel the long legs sinking into the soft sand of the shore on several occasions.  He was afraid it would lose its balance and topple into the Inner Sea, despite the driver's reassurances that this was impossible.

 

Molag Mar looked like Vivec from a distance, but the single canton seemed tiny in the shadow of Mt.  Kand that loomed from the North.  The beach had given way to the dry, rocky terrain characteristic of Molag Amur, ugly and black with few living things.  The scattered trees had died long ago, burned up by the volcanic rock that had once been scalding lava.  Ra'kesh could not say that all of Elsweyr was lush and inviting, but he would take the golden warmth of a desert over this desolate place any day.

 

The vision of life and color from Kala’s dream stayed with her all the way into Molag Amur as she stared dreamily out of the strider's palanquin.  Not even the occasional SQUONK of a passing cliff racer could ruin her reverie.

 

It was only a few hours after noon when the strider came to rest against the platform outside the city.  There was more traffic than Ra'kesh expected to see in a place like this.  Two other striders were being loaded with cargo, not passengers, at two neighboring platforms.  The noise of many voices, mostly Dunmer laborers, helped to mask their own conversation.

 

“He said it was in the waistworks, if Ra'kesh recalls,” he said, stepping carefully down the long staircase from the strider platform, adjusting the weight of the knapsack on his back.  Passengers seeking transport were already pushing past Kala and Ra'kesh to inquire about the strider's next departure.

 

Ra'kesh seemed better too, she thought, though he was never going to become a huge fan of strider travel.  Drakan-Ka had changed everything, but everything was not ruined.  Life went on, and she knew with whom she belonged, whether that was easy or difficult.

 

“Was there a number on the key?” Kala asked, twisting to one side to avoid being pushed over by a family of Dunmer with three children of various ages.  Her knapsack was not so heavy without the need to carry digging and study tools in it.  They moved forward across the bridge to the canton, into the shadow of the upper balcony.  The water below looked gray and murky, restless despite the lack of ocean currents as it was constantly heated and moved by the strange fires below.

 

He dug the key out of his pouch and held it up for her to see.  Ra'kesh still was not good with numbers.

 

“Twenty-five,” she read.  

 

He looked about them as they walked, taking note of all the faces that passed, and steering clear of anyone who came too close.  It wasn't hard- most everyone was Dunmer, and they didn't trouble themselves to get too close to outlanders here.  But if they were being tailed, Ra'kesh would not be caught unaware.  He knew the general layout of a canton well from his time in Vivec, and led them past the rows of apartment entrances that bordered the outer wall and up the ramp that would lead to the waistworks.

 

The waistworks here were cleaner and in better condition overall than those of the foreign quarter, which teemed with the poorest riff-raff Vivec had to offer.  Many of them fresh were off the boat from the mainland and eager for their chance to earn a drake honestly or otherwise.  The mood inside Molag Mar was more somber, respectful, in comparison.  The people who lived down here were not wealthy, but they did not reek of desperation as poor outlanders did.

 

They entered on the upper walkway, a few chitin-armored warriors lingering in the plaza set below them.  Ra'kesh guessed them to be Buoyant Armigers from the matching letters on all of their chests and on the hide loincloths.  That explained why such a backwater place had so much traffic- apparently Molag Mar had some kind of religious significance to the Dunmer.  The high traffic they had passed were probably pilgrims.

 

That was something about Dunmer religion that always did fascinate Ra'kesh.  They were so strongly tied to places.  So-and-so did this thing at this place, better build a shrine on the spot and bring the whole family around to visit.

 

Halls branched out in every direction, some of them adorned with flags depicting services.  He guessed the apartments would be down one of the bare halls.  Ra'kesh glanced around to be sure they hadn't been followed, and gestured for Kala to go first, as she could read the numbers on the doors.

 

Kala could not perfectly remember what shrine was here, or why there would be so many people on best behavior; but then, this was her first time seeing this strange city marooned out here in the wilderness.  She wondered what it was like to live here, so far from it all.  Was it quiet, peaceful? Or was it more contentious from the religious significance of the place? Dunmer were a debate-loving folk at their best, and their religious persuasions were legion, as much as the Tribunal Temple had tried to stamp out the Ashlander and daedric practices of late.

 

She felt Ra'kesh nudging them away when anyone seemed to move close, and she felt a jolt of adrenaline as she remembered why, the mood of the strider dissipating like incense in a high wind.  Any stranger could be reaching out with a spell, a concealed weapon.  In a sea of gray faces they were conspicuous.  She was suddenly grateful for the religious atmosphere.  It would make strange behavior more obvious.

 

The first hall they turned down began with the number eleven, apparently continued from across the way.  Twenty-five was nestled back around a corner in a stuffy corridor.  The floor here was obviously swept regularly, but the blue lanterns hanging from the ceiling were poorly maintained, and some had gone out.  Number twenty-five stood in a pool of ominous shadow.

 

“It's that one.” Kala looked around them warily as Ra'kesh opened the door.  A frisson of magicka raised the hair on both their necks as the lock clicked, a trap deactivating.  Not a cheap trap, either.  Celirius probably would have been fascinated to take it apart, Kala thought, and for a moment remembered wistfully a time when she had casual friends and often trusted strangers.

 

The apartment was one room.  There was a little green bubble of a window, letting in a light even weaker than the light from the hallway.  This one was actually hinged to open, though it was far too small for an adult of any species to get in or out.  The single bed was neatly made, the coverlet rigid enough to bounce a drake.  There was a single dresser, a stool, and a small wooden table, its top much gouged and splintered with use.  There was nothing resembling a kitchen, and a little wicker wastebasket by the table would prove to be empty.  Denva Khashzanal must have eaten out, or brought home only as much as he needed for a meal.

 

The walls were pitted and yellow, looking worn and undecorated.  

 

Ra'kesh silently drank in the dismal surroundings, wondering what kind of life Denva had lived here.  Or perhaps he did not live here at all.  But no, it smelled of Denva, and all other scents were old.  No one else had entered recently, so it was not some dummy apartment used as a meeting place.  This brought some peace of mind to the Khajiit.

 

The stink of plaster assaulted him almost immediately.  That saved them from rifling through Denva's meager belongings, if these drawers even held anything.  He moved to where the scent was strongest, on the wall that divided this room from the neighboring apartment, just over the bed.

 

“It smells of plaster here,” he said to Kala, quietly, as if they would be overheard.  Ra'kesh gingerly kneeled on coverlet, taking his knife to chip at the soft plaster.  It crumbled and fell to the bed.  His knife hit something hard underneath, and after scraping enough of the fresher plaster away, he saw that it was the original wall, but it had been cut into a square panel.  It was tightly fitted to the wall.  Ra'kesh jammed his knife into the groove to lever it free.

 

“Be ready for anything,” He said to Kala over his shoulder, and pushed.  The panel came free with a grating scrape, and Ra'kesh's nose twitched at the sharp, metallic scent of the air inside.

 

Kala shut the door behind them as Ra'kesh spoke.  When he reached into the wall she tensed, one hand uplifted, but nothing happened.  Apparently Denva had trusted the trap on his door and the layers of plaster to hide whatever was there.

 

“What is it?” she asked.

 

In front of Ra'kesh was a wooden shelf, rough and unfinished but cunningly nailed into the wall in the tiny space.  On it sat a stack of bags.  Most of them held gems cushioned by layers of fabric, lighter and more portable than coin; some held drakes; one held a daedric dagger, unenchanted and heavy as the weight of guilt.  Its crimson inlays glowed cruelly in the dark.  The value of all of it had to be nearly two hundred thousand drakes all told.

 

Ra'kesh dragged the bags out one by one, inspecting each in turn, expecting to find something with personal or professional meaning, but no.  His eyes were saucers as he spread the gold from one bag on the floor, sifting through it numbly.

 

“It does not make any sense,” he said, staring at the mountain of wealth, almost horrified.  “There is nothing here but gold and valuables.  Why would he tell Ra'kesh to take this? Dunmer must have some family member he wanted to be looked after!” He jumped to his feet and began pulling out the drawers of the dresser, tossing aside the clothes.  There must be a name somewhere, a portrait hidden away that Denva wanted them to find.

 

There wasn't.  He had barely any clothes to look through, and the bottom drawers were empty.  The space below the bed, the wicker basket, all of it empty! Ra'kesh stood stupefied, turning in place, eyeing the room and finding nothing else he could tear through.

 

Kala helped him search.  When he had finished she stood looking stupidly at the hoard for a moment.  Then she turned and set about putting clothes back in the drawers, almost automatically.   _ Mustn't leave a mess.   _ Nothing could be done about the hole in the plaster, of course.

 

“He was dying,” she said slowly.  “Maybe this was the only thing in his life that was important to him.  When we brought him back – when he knew he was going to die again – he gave it no thought.  It wasn't important any more when he had seen the Void.” She pushed a drawer shut and went to sit on the bed.  A bag slid over against her hip with the hard, rolling feeling that suggested it was full of pearls.

 

She wondered if the mer Ra'kesh had killed the second time was the same as the first.  Would his ultimate destination be the same? But speculation was for naught.  Neither of them would ever know.

 

He sat beside her, face lax and blank.  Ra'kesh ought to be overjoyed at this newfound wealth.  He would want for nothing.  Any worry they could possibly have could be solved with this gold.  They might even hire a bodyguard! But the glittering gems at his feet were a knife through the heart.

 

He'd murdered the man this belonged to.

 

_ It was not murder, _ Ra'kesh reminded himself.  Maybe it was, the second time.  He wasn't sure.  His breath quickened.  Ra'kesh felt like he could scream.

 

“Why did this have to happen?” he ground out through clenched teeth, hands balling into fists.  “Why did he chase us when he had this wealth? Why worship Namira? So much stupidity, so many questions!” The rage subsided a moment later.  Ra'kesh laid his forearms over his knees and sighed.

 

Kala waited it out, watching him quietly.  She was beginning to think she might be giving these outbursts more significance than they really deserved.  She had grown up around people who did not start shouting until they were about to start fighting, never as a way to relieve tension.  When it was over she said,

 

“What's past is past.  There are questions we can't have answered.” She chose the words carefully.  There was no need to renew accusations when they had already both made their feelings on the subject clear.  “What we have to decide now is what do we do next? I can still post my letter from here, but then what?”

 

Ra'kesh thought silently for a moment.  Was it right for them to take all of this gold? It was either that or leave it here for the landlord to find, or for Zael to take back.  Ra'kesh did not like the idea of that.

 

“He does not know.  We cannot be hauling away all these bags.  The neighbors might notice and think we are robbing the place.  In the eyes of the law it is true enough.  Recall back and cart it to the Suran bank or leave with parents, he supposes.  And then? Go home, finally.  Zael knows Kala's name and he can track her through the Guild, so unless Kala is ready to cut ties with her entire family and life, it does not matter if she waits in Balmora or Suran.  Hopefully the matter will be closed when the letter reaches him.  We will just have to be on guard till then.”

 

It was strange to call Kala's house “home,” but that's really what it had become to Ra'kesh.  It would be hard to deal with the fear, always looking over their shoulders in case Zael decided to retaliate, but they would persevere as they had.  He was ready to return.

 

Kala nodded, sighing.  “I agree.  I miss my house, and if we bank it in Suran it'll be that much easier for my parents to get to it if anything happens to you and me.  Then at least there's a chance it could go to your sister if they find her.” She did not like to think of both of them dying, but death was a part of life, and with the dangerous life they had been living of late it was a possibility that should be acknowledged and prepared for.

 

They gathered up the haul into the knapsacks as much as possible and carried the rest in hand as Kala Recalled them back to Suran.  She explained the situation to her parents in its essentials, about the assassin and the key.  They argued briefly with one another over whether it was right to keep ill-gotten gains, but ultimately came down on the side of their daughter being rich, as she had suspected they would.  Then it was just a matter of tying most of it into saddlebags to haul off to the bank on Bloofer-back.  The guar greeted them with a cheerful snort as they loaded him up.

 

The bank in Suran was smaller than the one in Balmora, though they had still managed to build in a few stately pillars to hold up the roof, and the floor was polished black stone probably hauled from Molag Amur.  Familiar bonemold-clad guards watched impassively as a very polite Dunmer man in very nice clothes verified Kala's account; there had been more than time enough for the Hlaalu bank in Balmora to pass around the list of its new subscribers.  Suran was less cosmopolitan than Balmora.  More people stared at an Orc and a Khajiit walking about together.

 

Ra'kesh's guilt waxed and waned, elation occasionally setting in after the initial shock was over and he had time to process what was happening.  They were rich.

 

And here he thought twenty thousand for the calcinator was wealth, he thought as they walked from the bank.  Kala kept a few gems for alchemy purposes and the Daedric dagger had gone to Ra'kesh.  He wasn't sure he would keep such an ostentatious weapon, although a Dwemer shortsword was hardly better.  Aside from the calcinator, that dagger was the single most valuable thing Ra'kesh had ever held.  It was a dizzying thought.

 

Loriand had accompanied them in order to bring Bloofer home, and also perhaps because he knew it may be a long time before Kala and Ra'kesh would return.  They all walked to the silt strider together beneath a clear blue sky.  They had a few hours before sunset and would reach Balmora just after dark.

 

“Good luck, Loriand.  He will do well as an armsman, Ra'kesh knows,” he said with a grin, clapping the Altmer on the shoulder.  They never knew each other well, but Ra'kesh was glad things had worked out for him.  They waved to Loriand from the strider as it conveyed them away on gangly legs.

 

Loriand watched them go seriously, one hand upraised.  Kala thought he looked healthier than when they had first met him, better rested and clearer-eyed.  She felt a surge of warm affection for her parents, that they had taken him in, and though she had seldom been very religious she quietly thanked the Divines that it had worked out for him.  It was something to remember when the thought of poor Valerian kept her awake.


	22. Chapter 22

Ra'kesh spent most of the trip reflecting, staring out at the landscape rolling past, the warmth of Kala against his side a contrast to the cool wind sweeping through his mane.  Lake Amaya sparkled red and orange beneath a blazing sunset sky.  His thoughts returned again and again to the Dunmer he had killed for this wealth.  Every time he thought of what he would buy with this much money - the finest rum imported straight from Elsweyr, sweetrolls for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, fine silk clothes - the excitement would ebb, only to be replaced with grief.

 

Ra'kesh leaned against Kala's side, resting his head against hers and idly stroking her back with the arm that was thrown behind her.

 

“Did Kala ever have fantasies of what she would do if she were rich?” he asked.

 

She drowsed as they rode the strider, cheek on Ra'kesh's shoulder, his head against her head like a big furry hat.  What a strange life she led.  Once she had dreamed only of academic success, of finding something no one else had ever found, of noting it all down neatly and seeing it published in a bound book where anyone could go and look it up in the Guild library.  Perhaps some day she still would, she thought sadly, but probably not.  A discovery like the Engine came along once in a scholar's life, for better or worse.

 

Sometimes she thought of Denva.  What had he imagined them doing with his money? Surely he had expected them to do something more moral with it than he would himself, or why tell Ra'kesh about it? It would one day have been found by his landlord or some stranger in Molag Mar, if he just wanted to see that someone had it.  She regretted his second death each time she thought of it.  Perhaps that mer, the one who had come out of the Engine, could have lived a very different life.

 

_ You shouldn't watch.  It's nothing either of us hasn't been through before.  You're only making it harder on yourself.   _ In retrospect perhaps the words had been manipulative, whether in hopes of provoking her to stop Ra'kesh from what he knew was inevitable, or merely in hopes of delaying the end.  If so, the mer had been an uncanny actor.

 

“I suppose,” she said.  “Buy better alchemy equipment...  Sail to Cyrodiil to gather new ingredients...  Wear velvet robes...  Hire a maid so I could quit worrying about the house...  I used to fantasize that I would go to that market in Tel Aruhn and buy absolutely everyone and just free them on the spot, and then have all the bracers melted down and made into plowshares or armor for Legionnaires or something.” She sighed.  “I was young and stupid.  The market would be back the next day, and I would have made no difference in the long term.”

 

Ra'kesh continued to stare at the sky beyond them, not budging from his resting place against Kala as she spoke.  He was feeling a bit sleepy, and as long as they were on flat land, the silt strider's rhythmic gait combined with the pastoral scenery could be relaxing.

 

“It might make no difference in the long term, but to each person she freed it would mean everything,” he said.  “It has meant everything to Ra'kesh.  If only he had this wealth fifteen years ago, he might have saved his sister.” He paused for a moment, then continued, slowly.  “We really could go and buy them all.  There is nothing to stop us.  But, well...  then the gold would be in the hands of slavers, and we would have an army of homeless freedmen to feed and clothe before they could get their lives together.  Perhaps it is not a practical fantasy, but it was a nice one.”

 

He gave her a brief squeeze.  Ra'kesh always imagined that few non-betmer actually gave a damn about the lives of slaves.  After meeting her family, Ra'kesh thought maybe he was wrong about that.

 

She squeezed him back.  “Thank you, love.” She sighed.  “There ought to be something one can do to at least undermine the institution without just giving more money to slavers.  Because you're right – they would need help to learn to be free.  Securing a trade or an education or both can be the work of half a person's life even under ideal circumstances.”

 

The Fields of Kummu had fallen behind them.  Fort Moonmoth loomed out of the mist first as they drew nearer from the East, Imperial banners swinging from its high walls of gray stone.  Balmora gradually appeared beyond, square towers and strider platform looming above the stuccoed walls.  Gulls wheeled above the river, black against the fading sky.

 

The letter lay rolled tightly in Kala's belt pouch.  She had thought it over and decided it was better to post it from Balmora – better that Zael know where to find her and not go looking at her parents' plantation again, if he was inclined to be vindictive.

 

Ra'kesh was glad for the dark that enveloped the town when they arrived.  Less noise and less traffic meant that it was easier to see if they were being watched, and it meant that all of the neighbors should be home already.

 

Ra'kesh downed one of the life detects as they approached their home street.

 

“He counts how many in each nearby house,” Ra'kesh told Kala, quietly.  “From now on, no one will watch the house without his knowing.” They had enough to last a long time, but cost or the time needed to collect ingredients for more potions didn't matter anymore.

 

There were few people outside at this hour, and the people they did pass were either on their way South to the pubs or just coming home.  No one lingered where they ought not to be.

 

The house seemed unnaturally silent when they entered, the shapes and scents new and familiar at once as muscle memory of the space slowly resumed in Ra'kesh's mind.  He gladly shed the knapsack near the door and sighed loudly, relieved that the traveling was done with.

 

Kala nodded grimly as he spoke.  From now on there would always have to be precautions.  They did not know from what direction the next attack might come, or from whom.

 

She plucked the note to the laundress from the front door, then entered the house behind Ra'kesh.  She fanned the door a couple of times to air out the space before shutting it firmly behind them.  There was no telltale scent of ingredients going off.  She had used up a lot of what was here before they had left, but it was always good to be wary in case of something that might lose stability if long unattended.  Tales of exploding alchemy cabinets had been often bandied about during her apprenticeship.

 

“I like this house,” she said softly, half to herself.  Even with everything that had happened, she still felt herself relax a little here.   _ Home.   _ This space was still, had still been safe, and as long as it lasted, she would treasure it.  She carried her knapsack over to the corner and hauled out the dirty laundry to carry to the hamper, then went upstairs to fluff the pillows about and pump a little water through the drains.

 

Ra'kesh smiled at that.

 

“The Nend plantation was beautiful, but having servants doting on us was a bit awkward for Ra'kesh.  And it is cozier here.  It is good to be back,” he said.

 

Ra'kesh put away what little food they had left while Kala was upstairs and made plates for both of them.  It was nothing special, just some hound meat and the last of the fruit before it could go bad.  It was waiting for her at the table when Kala returned.  He had used the earthenware dishes.  For some reason, it felt more homey.

 

Despite a healthy appetite, Ra'kesh picked slowly at his meal.  He was thinking of his first day in this room, barely able to stomach the food he'd been given, full of hatred and bitterness.  He would have withered away in that cage if Kala had not bought him and nursed him back to health, a pitiful addict no one in their right mind would ever buy.  Regardless of her intentions, it had saved his life.

 

Kala was touched to find he had already laid out food when she came back downstairs.

 

“Thank you.” They ate in silence for a few minutes, and she was surprised to see he wasn't eating much, something clearly on his mind.  She waited patiently, nibbling at a mushy apricot, until he spoke.

 

“Would it really be so crazy if we somehow used this gold to help slaves?” Ra'kesh said after a thoughtful silence.  “It is a huge undertaking, and Ra'kesh is not really sure how to start, but we could hire others to help if necessary.”

 

“No, I don't think that's crazy,” she said thoughtfully, and had a sip of water.  “We could do something.  Even if it's just buying a couple of people at a time, freeing them, and helping them get a start, or helping them get home, if they were stolen or sold recently.  Or we could go to one of the Argonian missions and ask what needs to be done.  There are rumors that they may undermine slavery within the country, it's why the Dunmer tend to be so hostile toward them.  Or we could try to get in touch with abolitionists and fund or support them.”

 

Ra'kesh nodded, his face lighting up with the realization that it was possible.

 

“Right, the Argonian missions! Ra'kesh vaguely remembers talk of this.  That is probably the best path to pursue now, as Ra'kesh would not know how else to get in touch with abolitionists.  Few would admit such allegiance to a stranger.” He paused, one ear turning back.  Ra'kesh cleared his throat and hid his mouth behind his cup.  “Kala gets on with Ra'Virr well enough.  It might be worthwhile to ask him what he knows.” He set the cup down again, eye downcast.  “Ra'kesh ought to apologize to him.”

 

“It would be a good thing to do,” she said gently.  “He's a good man, even if you met him at the wrong time in your life.  I think he would accept that in good part.” She missed her occasional chats with the shopkeeper.  She had used to take her potions to sell to him at least once a week.  And Ra'kesh was a very different Khajiit from the one who had stamped out of Ra'virr's shop, furious at the loss of his moon sugar.

 

“I think the nearest Argonian mission is probably in Vivec.  It's a short enough trip by guild guide.”

 

Now that he thought of it, Ra'kesh couldn't believe he was at a place in his life where he was actually  _ happy _ the incident in Ra'Virr's shop had played out the way it did.  Ra'kesh did not want to return to that half-life ever again, even if he did still have weak moments when he thought of skooma.  No matter what temporary bliss it might bring, it wasn't worth throwing away everything he had gained.

 

“We could go tomorrow,” Ra'kesh said.  The chances of running into someone he knew in such a huge city were low, but he'd have to stay alert just in case.  His expression changed then, growing serious.  For once, his eyes were smiling and his mouth was not.  Ra'kesh looked at Kala intently and felt such a swelling of emotion in his chest.  He loved this woman.

 

“Tomorrow,” she agreed.  She was about to ask if he minded her stopping at a shop in Vivec that sold slightly better robes at a reasonable cost when she saw his face.  Even after everything that had happened, blood still rushed to her face when he looked at her that way.  Her yellow eyes grew larger and brighter as she looked down.

 

“Kala, Ra'kesh has something he must say.  When he thought he was dying outside Drakan-Ka...  Well, it is hard to explain.  He was not sad.  Knowing that Kala was safe was all that mattered to him, so he had no regrets, and was ready to die.  But at the same time he wished to tell Kala that she is the first person Ra'kesh has loved, the first one that he could trust.  He has no barriers with you.  Ra'kesh may have made himself out to be...  ehm..  experienced,” Ra'kesh scratched the side of his face, glancing away for a moment.  “That was mostly exaggeration, but none of those were anyone Ra'kesh would die for.  He did not know what it meant to love someone then.

 

“The night of the Clannfear attack- the first time- Ra'kesh could have taken the key and fled after Kala fell asleep.  He thought of it, but did not.  He is not sure exactly why, and it has been hard for him to admit that he needed someone other than himself.  Ah, Khajiit rambles.” Ra'kesh paused, and sighed, and reached across the table to take her hand.  “He just wants to say that he thanks Kala for giving him a life worth living.  She is most precious and Ra'kesh loves her more every day.  Ra'kesh wishes to be considered  _ khav'hat natho _ someday.” He pronounced the word awkwardly, less gutturally than the Orcs spoke it.  A happy half-smile broke across his face when he had finished.

 

“Oh, my dear.” She got up and stepped around the table to put her arms around his neck so she could kiss his forehead over his good eye, his cheek nestled against her breast.  “I've never been able to say what I felt half as well as you.

 

“We met because I did the worst thing I had ever done to that point in my entire life, and you were in a dreadful situation, the worst a person could be in.  I watched you pull yourself out of it and survive.  I'm more of an Orc than I thought I was, you know that? Because Orcs are attracted to strength, and you are strong.  I've seen you survive things that would not be believed if I were to relate them to a stranger.”

 

She liked seeing him from this perspective, actually, she decided.  Normally she saw his face from below it.  Now she could see the little tufts on the tips of his ears and the soft fur on the top of his head, the soft gradation of tan fur along the top of his nose.

 

“I love you so much that I ache, sometimes,” she said softly.  “You are precious to me as well, my own particular Ra'kesh.  It will be my joy and my honor to call you  _ khav'hat natho _ when our first year has passed.” Technically the title would not be correct until then.  Even using it at one year would be considered a stretch by more conservative Orcs.

 

Kala's full green lips stretched slightly around her tusks as she smiled at him in return.

 

Ra'kesh closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of his Kala, pressing his face back against her softness.  He could never be happier than when they touched, when his senses were full of her.  It made his life complete.

 

“It is easier to survive when one has something to live for,” he said, grinning up at her.  He dropped his head to kiss one of the arms that encircled his neck.  “Now, his lovely girl, we have another big day tomorrow.” Ra'kesh patted her arms and stood in her embrace, then kissed her.  His nose was moist when it brushed against hers.  He was purring.

 

They left the dishes to be bothered with tomorrow.  The only thing Ra'kesh cared about just then was holding his little Orc.  He would tell her again and again, with and without words, how much she meant to him.  As he drifted to sleep sometime later, Ra'kesh promised himself that he would become a better person, one worthy of Kala's love.

 

Their wealth may have been ill-gotten, but it would not be used selfishly.  Ironic, that the gold paid from a Telvanni master should be used to help slaves.  Ra'kesh wondered how Denva Khashzanal would have felt about his final legacy to the betmer of Vvardenfell.  It did not matter, Ra'kesh decided.  With Kala's help, he would redeem them both.

 

And one day they did find Fasai - and one day the master of Tel Zael came to a bad end - but that is another tale.

 

THE END


End file.
